


Steve Harrington Was Not Gay

by StressedOutPixie



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mild Language, Slow Burn, Slurs, Soccer Mom Steve Harrington, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17346341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StressedOutPixie/pseuds/StressedOutPixie
Summary: Steve Harrington, former king of Hawkins High School is trying to adjust to his quickly declining social status. Between gay slurs, locker room fights, and mending a broken heart, Steve starts to find himself making friends with the person who knocked him off his throne to begin with. But Billy Hargrove is unpredictable and Steve doesn't always understand his motives.Or, Steve gets picked on and beat up and Billy isn't the reason why.





	1. Steve Harrington Was Not Gay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some homophobic slurs, so please be careful if that's a trigger for you. I do not condone that usage but it is something that was common and I believe is necessary for the proper impact. Stay safe.

Steve Harrington was not gay.

He knew that. He might've just broken up with Nancy, sure, but that didn't mean he was gay. In fact, it _proved_ that he wasn't gay. Being in a committed relationship with a woman definitely meant he wasn't gay. Not that being gay was a bad thing, he just didn't want false truths to be spread around Hawkins High School just because he had lost his title to that asshole Billy Hargrove. One drinking competition loss and suddenly he's not worthy of the time and attention of the high school. Clearly, that showed the messed up priorities of teenagers.

Despite explicitly knowing that he _was not gay_ , Steve seemed to be getting a new reputation around Hawkins High School because he hadn't been with a girl since he and Nancy broke up. He had really liked Nancy, loved her, and apparently taking time to reflect and recover made him gay. He didn't know where the rumor started. All he knew was that a few of his teammates, _especially_ Hargrove, had started spitting slurs in his face before and after basketball practice. Not that it bothered Steve. He just missed being given basic decency by people he thought were his friends.

Besides, he had enough on his plate without having a girlfriend. For example, he was now the go-to chauffeur and babysitter for Mike, Will, Dustin, Lucas, Max, and occasionally Jane. With this title, it meant he had to drive them places, make sure nothing from the Upside Down killed any of them, and occasionally participate in a D&D campaign, like he was supposed today, after school. Glancing at the clock, Steve saw that he had fifteen minutes before school let out for the day. He didn't have practice, didn't have much homework, and his parents were out of town for some work event his dad was required to attend.

It was going to be a lovely evening.

The second the bell rang, Steve flew out of his chair, shrugged on his coat, and threw his backpack over his shoulder. Pulling his keys from his pocket, he jangled them as he walked to his car, slipping through the wave of teenagers trying to escape the building. As he reached his car, he noticed a note wedged under the windshield wipe. Confused, he grabbed it and opened it, scanning its contents before going back and rereading it closer. The note accused him of abusing the boys. Of using them for his “guilty fucked up pleasure.” Of feeding his “faggot fantasies.” Steve couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think. He stared at the note for one minute, then two, then five. People were talking and laughing and shouting around him, but time seemed to catch him in a trap that forced him to be in a standstill while everything else rushed past him. He couldn’t imagine who would’ve written the note. All he knew is that whoever did was going to pay for it.

Crumbling the note, he jammed it in his jacket pocket and swung open his car door before slamming it closed. Recklessly shoving the key in the ignition, he started the car then threw it into reverse, nearly running over two sophomores. They glared and shouted curses at him, but he couldn’t hear a word they said over the blood roaring in his ears. He wouldn’t touch any of the kids he protected even if someone held a gun to his head. Whoever accused him of such was going to get their skull bashed in tomorrow, even if it killed him.

Skidding into the Hawkins Middle School parking lot, Steve got in the pick-up line and watched for the kids. He could still feel the rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach, but knew he would have to calm down before driving Will, Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Max back to the Wheeler's for the campaign. Driving himself while pissed off was fine, endangering his charges was not. After a few minutes, Steve saw all five of them clambering out the doors and running toward his car with backpacks falling off shoulders and jackets only half on.

“First one to the car gets shotgun!” Dustin shouts, and they all scrambled to get to the car faster, tripping over jacket sleeves as they went. Mike is the first to Steve’s Beamer, and he practically rips the doors off the hinges in his excitement.

“Hey, Steve!” he greets, dumping his stuff on the floor and jumping into the seat. Steve returns the greeting and watches the other four fight over who sits where.

“Hey, no fair!” Dustin protests. “I totally would’ve gotten here first if it wasn’t for Lucas running into me!”

“I did _not_ run into you,” Lucas defends, opening the driver’s side back door.

“Yes, you did.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Boys!” Max interrupts. “Get in the damn car.”

“Language,” Steve corrects.

Max rolls her eyes.

Finally, after what seems like an hour, all four kids are seated in the backseat. Shifting into drive, Steve begins the drive to the Wheeler’s house while the kids chatter and shout around him. Mike is practically in the backseat he’s twisted so far around to talk with his friends, Max is sandwiched between Lucas and Will, Will’s backpack is crammed between him and the car door, and Dustin is tangled in Lucas’ jacket. Steve smiles fondly. He may not have exactly volunteered to be the taxi driver for the kids, but he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Pulling into the Wheeler’s driveway, Steve turned off the car and stepped out, watching jackets and backpacks and children alike spill from the backseat and onto the concrete. The chaos of getting their belongings and bumping car doors closed now over, all five rushed to the door and stumble in the front door.

“Hey, Mom! We’ll be in the basement!” Mike called, already halfway down the basement steps, abandoning his things in a pile by the door.

Steve followed behind, but not before catching a glimpse of Jonathan and Nancy cuddled on the couch. His heart twisted. Not as much as it used to, but enough to cause him to furrow his brow before quickly schooling his expression. He wanted Nancy to be happy. She was happy, just not with Steve. He could live with that.

After the campaign, (which they didn’t finish because it was a school night and they all still had homework to finish, Steve included,) Steve was supposed to drive Dustin home before going home himself, which wasn’t a problem. In fact, Dustin was probably Steve’s favorite kid out of the bunch. Steve saw just a little bit of himself in Dustin when Steve was in middle school. The desire to be cool, the uncontrollable need to smile while in his presence, his dependence on his friends. It reminded Steve of himself then and even more so of him now. Once Dustin had gathered all his stuff, Steve bid Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler goodbye and made the kids promise not to finish the campaign without him. Then they were out the door, which would’ve been fine if not for the blue Camaro parked on the street. Billy Hargrove’s car.

“Hey, Dustin… can you go back inside for a second? I need to talk with Billy.”

“Are you sure, Steve? I can stay and back you up,” Dustin offered, balling up his fists.

“Thanks for the offer, but I got it. Tell Max that her brother’s here too.”

Dustin conceded, then went back in the house. Straightening up, Steve held his head high and thought back to the note in his pocket. He plucked it from his jacket and managed to smooth it out from the ball it had been crumpled in as he strutted to the driver’s side. Slamming the note on the window, Steve took pleasure from how Billy flinched, then turned to snarl at Steve.

“What the fuck you want, Harrington?” Billy growled while rolling down the window.

“I want to know why you thought it would be okay to put this note under my damn windshield wiper,” Steve spat back.

“Note? I may have considered doing a lot of things to that stupid ass car of yours but putting a note under the windshield wiper like some thirsty bitch wasn’t one of them. Step off, asshole.”

Steve waved the note in Billy’s face. “Fine, Hargrove, you didn’t do it, but who did? Surely one of your idiot friends would be bragging about how he ‘disgraced the fag.’”

Snatching the note from him, Billy thrust it in his jacket pocket. “I don’t know, Harrington. Now stop getting your panties in a twist and get the fuck away from my car before I grind your nose into the asphalt.”

Steve stepped away, not breaking eye contact. “I will figure out who sent it. And when I do, they’re going to pay.”

“Whatever, Harrington.” By this time, Max was sliding into the passenger’s seat. Steve sent one more look over his shoulder before getting in his own car and tapping the horn to signal to Dustin that it was time to go.

Steve didn’t say a word on the entire ride home.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you actually like this garbage and I haven't updated in a while, yell at me and I might start working on something.


	2. Steve Harrington Got a Bloody Nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short mention of violence and blood, nothing too serious.

The next morning, Steve was still mulling over the contents of the note. He couldn’t get it out of his head. The words kept swirling through his mind’s eye, becoming permanent fixtures of his internal monologue. They tormented him as he showered, as he fixed his hair, as he shoved a granola bar in his mouth on the way out the door, as he started on his way to school. He was going to find out who wrote that damn note and he was going to make sure they didn’t do anything like that again.

First period was slow. Steve had World History first, which was usually somewhat interesting, but today he wasn’t feeling it. Probably because of the note and all that it implied, because rather than pay attention to Mr. Baldwin, Steve was listening in to what bits of conversation he could hear being whispered from person to person. Most of it was insignificant, talking about Tommy’s party that was happening this weekend, gossiping about what Brittany had said to Stacy, and how Ellen was supposedly going out with John. Nothing particularly important.

In fact, Steve didn’t hear anything about the note from anyone until lunch, when he was passing by the table where Billy, Tommy, and a couple other guys from the basketball team were sitting.

“...note that Harrington shoved in my face last night,” Steve caught Billy saying.

“What about it?” Tommy grilled. “Me and half of the guys were in on it.”

“It was an asshole move, Tommy,” Billy accused. “Did you even...”

Then Steve was out of earshot. It’s not like he could stand there and listen in on the whole conversation. He waited in line for his food, then scanned the cafeteria. He could sit with the basketball team and be ridiculed by everyone, he could sit awkwardly with Nancy, or he could go outside and eat on the bleachers by himself even though it was only thirty-seven degrees outside. _Outside,_ he decided. Barging through the doors and plopping down on the bleachers, Steve looked at the empty field in front of him. It was quiet out here, pleasantly so, and Steve started to wonder why he hadn’t come out here sooner. There was no one here to bother him, no one poking fun at his disgrace, no hot-headed teenagers trying to pick a fight. It was just him, his cafeteria mush, and an empty field.

As he picked at the food on his plate, Steve’s thoughts once again strayed to the note and its sender. From what he had overheard, Tommy was the one who came up with it. But what was more confusing was Billy’s response. Obviously, he’d read the note. But the fact that Billy thought it was cruel seemed odd. As far as tormenting Steve went, Billy was one of the worst offenders. Why did he care what Tommy and half the basketball team thought of Steve?

The rest of the day passed like molasses being poured out, but it still wasn’t over. Steve still had basketball practice, which he’d come to dread more than almost anything else. Slipping into the locker room, Steve went about his own business, no one paying him much mind. He changed into his basketball shorts and a Hawkins High School t-shirt he wore for practice before sitting down to tie his shoes. He kept waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. Practice went as smoothly as practice can until there was only about ten minutes left. They were playing against each other, Steve as team captain for shirts, Billy as team captain for skins. Steve was down by three points, and he was _not_ going to let anyone take this victory away from him. He may not be King Steve anymore but that was not an excuse to flop at one of the only things he seemed to be good at these days.

Steve had the ball and was guarding it like his life depended on it. Billy was in front of him, Tommy behind, and Steve felt trapped between them. His teammate Edward was open to the right of him, but Steve couldn’t pass to him without Billy snatched the ball from his hands. Tommy was breathing down his neck and was so close to Steve he could feel the heat radiating off him.

“What’s the matter, fag?” Tommy sneered. “Too busy thinking about your little slaves to play the damn game? Or maybe you’re getting some new masturbation material for when you’re feeling lonely, huh, _King Steve_?”

Steve froze. Billy snatched the ball from him but he didn’t react in time, so he was left to grasp at the air where the ball was. His teammates around him cursed and groaned and complained and it was deafening in Steve’s ears. Billy made a basket. Steve’s team lost.

After practice finished, Steve could feel his rage broiling in his chest and as soon as he and Tommy were left alone in the hall, Steve grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him back before slamming him into the wall and pressing his forearm to Tommy’s neck.

“Steve listen—”

“No, _you_ listen, Tommy.” Steve leaned into the arm he had over Tommy’s neck. “You can call me whatever slurs you want. Gay, queer, fag, I don’t give a shit. But if you say that I am taking advantage of those kids one more time, I swear to God, I will _decimate_ you.”

The veins in Tommy’s forehead and neck were beginning to bulge and his face was turning redder by the second. For a brief moment, Steve considered leaving him like that until he was begging to be let go. But Steve knew better. He stepped away from Tommy only to be socked in the nose. Steve stumbled then clutched his nose, already feeling and tasting blood.

“Fuck you, Harrington,” Tommy spat, coughing, then continued down the hall, not looking back.

Backing up, Steve felt the wall on his back and slid down it slowly until he was sitting on the floor. Tipping his head back, he pinched the bridge of his nose but could still mentally trace the path the blood was taking down his lips, chin, jaw, and neck before being absorbed by the collar of his sweat soaked shirt. The blood was still flowing five minutes later but Steve couldn’t bring himself to stand up and get cleaned up. Instead, he closed his eyes and sagged against the wall a bit more. It would stop eventually.

“What the fuck, Harrington?” a voice accused.

Steve barely cracked an eye open. Billy was standing before him, arms crossed over his chest.

“I’ll apologize to Tommy later,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

“What? No, that dick had it coming for him,” Billy dismissed, his voice now sounding closer. “I’m talking about you. Your entire collar is soaked through and there’s still a lot coming out. We need to get it staunched.”

Steve half-opened an eye again. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Billy stated as he hauled Steve up from his sitting position. “C’mon, we’re going to the locker room.”

Billy half dragged, half pushed Steve to the locker room before commanding him to sit on the benches and keep his head tilted back before disappearing around the corner. A few minutes later he returned, a damp washcloth in hand. Standing before Steve, Billy leaned over a bit and began swiping at the dried blood on Steve’s face before pressing the wash cloth to his nose.

“There,” Billy said flatly. Steve attempted to swat his hand away, but Billy persisted. “You’ll manage to fuck it up. Look what you already did to your shirt.”

Steve didn’t reply.

Billy eventually checked Steve’s progress and seemed satisfied, because he removed the wash cloth and started mopping up the rest of Steve’s bloody face and neck. Steve found himself watching Billy closely, his eyes following the slope of his nose, the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. Billy seemed focused on his task, his hands gentle which contrasted harshly with the last time Billy’s hands had been anywhere near Steve’s face. Last time, the blood on Steve’s face was Billy’s fault, but here he was, cleaning it up instead.

Steve was confused.

Billy finished, then threw the cloth down on the bench. He pivoted and gathered his things from where they had been abandoned in the corner, then started to leave. He was halfway out the door before he glanced back at Steve who was still hunched over on the bench. His eyes caught Steve’s and something in Steve’s gut told him that there was more to Billy than what he wanted everyone to believe.

“If you wash out your shirt in cold water now, it might not stain.”

Then he was gone.  

Steve didn’t know how he knew this, but regardless, he slipped the shirt over his head and began rinsing it out in the sink, examining his nose as he waited for the water to chill. It was purple and swollen, but any traces of blood were gone save for the faint traces of where the collar of his shirt lay. Steve ran his shirt under the flow coming from the faucet and watched pink water swirl down the drain. Though not totally clean, the shirt might be able to be salvaged if he threw it in the wash as soon as he got home.

After bagging up his sopping shirt and changing back into his normal clothes, Steve left the locker room, then the school building, and slipped into his car. As he started the engine, his thoughts began to start humming in time with the engine. Billy Hargrove of all people had just cleaned up his mess.

Why?    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly, y'alls encouragement worked a bit since I have a whole chapter to post, albeit a sort of bad one. If you want more, yell at me some more.


	3. Steve Harrington Had a Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a tad shorter than the last two because I wrote everything I had outlined and decided that adding anything more would detract from the story. Sorry, I hope you guys still like it. Very minor violence this chapter, that's all.

The following two mornings, Steve kept going back to his time with Billy in the locker room. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. Billy Hargrove had taken time out of his day to clean up Steve’s bloodstained face, then proceeded to give him tips about his laundry. Flabbergasted was the first word that came to Steve’s mind, and he felt it fit his mood perfectly. Billy didn’t treat him any differently in school; he still shoved Steve around, made fun of him with the others, and was generally a douche bag. In Steve’s eyes, that almost made it worse. If Billy had started acting like he wanted them to be friends, Steve could understand the context of the scene after practice. But nothing had changed. His nose was still purple, he was still disgraced, and he still dreaded basketball practice. 

Practice was hell. Tomorrow was game day which meant that Coach was driving the whole team hard and fast, preparing them for whatever the opposing team threw at them. Truth be told, Steve didn’t even know which school they were playing. Chaperoning the middle schoolers around, doing occasional patrols to make sure no Upside Down creatures were on the loose, and nursing his hurt ego kept him busy and with minimal mental capacity to stress about which group of sweaty teenagers he was going to be competing against. Plus, after the fight with Tommy, Coach had him benched. Tommy had made it out to be that Steve was harassing him or something because when Steve tried to protest, Coach heard none of Steve’s rebuttals. Though honestly, Steve didn’t mind sitting this one out. It would be nice to actually watch the game he dedicated so much of his life to for a change.

As they ran drills, Steve kept glancing at Billy, trying to think of what to do. He could ignore it and let it go away or he could talk to Billy about it. His first thought was to forget about it. But this was Billy Hargrove they were talking about, which meant that he probably had ulterior motives. Steve might not know what those were, but knowing Billy, it was going to come back and bite him in the ass.

So talking to him it was.

Unfortunately, talking was not Steve’s strong suit. Whacking demodogs with a lethal bat? Fine. Toting middle schoolers to activities like some sort of soccer mom? Sure. Having a serious conversation that involved how two people work together? Not so much. Look at his relationship with Nancy and how well that turned out. His reasoning was much less smooth than his feet as he ran drills; his thought process was tripping over itself and circling back like a lost puppy. Steve wanted to have this conversation with Billy as soon as possible, but he wasn’t even sure how to  _ start.  _ Any previous interaction he’d had with him had been charged with hormone induced anger.

Except for whatever happened Tuesday.

By the time practice was over, Steve still hadn’t come up with how to open the conversation. The team was walking back to the locker room already, laughing and playfully shoving each other over, Billy leading the charge, but Steve hung back. He would bide his time and if the opportunity presented itself, he would broach the subject. If not, he would take more time to figure out what the hell he was going to say. 

Steve was the last one in the locker room, last one to strip off his gym clothes, and last one in the showers. As he let the water rinse off the stickiness and the stench, Steve heard the general din quiet and then cease until he was alone. He breathed a sigh of relief. He could talk to Billy tomorrow, he dismissed. Turning off the shower, he towel dried his hair before wrapping the towel around his waist and securing it in place. He brushed aside the shower curtain and gingerly stepped onto the cold tile before making his way to the sinks. Hair products were littered on all of the sinks, either forgotten or discarded. A comb here, a jar of pomade there, a can of hairspray over there. Steve thought nothing of it, instead wiping the steam from the mirror with his hand and beginning to fuss with his hair, rivulets of water working their way down his shoulder blades and spine. He had left all his gel and hairspray at home, favoring his own bathroom, so he parted it and worked out the knots carefully, his fingers snagging in the longer parts. Just as he was turning around to go get his clothes, he ran fully into someone, startling Steve.

“Holy shit!” Steve cursed. “Sorry man, I—” then Steve recognized that it wasn’t just anyone he’d bumped into, or even Tommy. It was much worse.

Billy scoffed. “Just move now that you’re done primping your hair, Pretty Boy. I need to get my shit.”

“Actually, Hargrove,” Steve started confidently.

Then he saw the withering look Billy was giving him over his shoulder and his confidence crumbled.

“Could, uh…” Billy turned back toward the sink. “could we talk?” Steve finished, his voice falling flat.

Billy froze for half a second, then pivoted to face Steve again, his hand pressing against the sink behind him. “Depends, Harrington. What about?”

“Listen,” Steve cleared his throat. “Tuesday. Tuesday was… weird, like, I appreciate the help but—”

“No buts about it, Harrington,” Billy interrupted. “You either appreciated it or you didn’t, so which is it?”

“Back the fuck up. I  _ said  _ I appreciated the help—”

“Then we’re done here.” Billy pushed off the sink, swept his things off the back of the sink and into a backpack which had been on the floor, then knocked shoulders with Steve on his way back to the lockers.

“Billy,” Steve said, following. “We are  _ not  _ done,” Steve grabbed Billy’s shoulder and spun him around so they were eye to eye, “because you helped me when literally all you’ve ever been to me is massive asshole.”

Billy lunged for Steve, dropping the backpack and shoving Steve’s shoulders into the wall while bringing his face so close to Steve’s that Steve could feel warm air fanning across his mouth and nose and could smell the cigarette smoke on his breath. “I told you I didn’t care. You  _ asked  _ me why I cared and I told. you. I.  _ didn’t. _ Now drop it or this time I’ll be the one who gives you a bloody nose.” Billy ground his shoulders into the wall before releasing him and stalking out of the locker room without another look.

Sighing, Steve stepped away from the wall and rubbed his bare shoulders where they had been digging into the wall. That went much worse than anticipated. Steve just wanted to know what to expect from Billy in the future, and instead of a straight answer, he gained a few more bruises and a lot more questions.

He said he didn’t care, but you don’t clean up the bloodied face of someone you don’t care about. You leave them to suffer in the hallway.

Steve thought back to the note. Maybe it was something Tommy had said? About hurting the boys? As Billy was leaving the locker room on Tuesday, the look he gave Steve seemed almost… vulnerable. Maybe it wasn’t so much that Tommy was taking it too far (even though he was,) what if instead, Billy had experience with abuse? All Steve knew about the Hargroves was they had recently moved to Hawkins from California and that Max was Billy’s stepsister, which meant Billy’s dad remarried. Beyond that, Steve was clueless. He didn’t know where Mr. Hargrove worked, what he did, or why they moved. His parents were rarely home, so it’s not like they had any connection to them. The home of the Hargrove’s could be anything.

But Steve couldn’t know for sure especially after that conversation, if you could even call it that.

Groaning, Steve finished dressing and getting his stuff, then went home to do homework before going over to the Wheeler’s to finish the D&D campaign with the boys.

He could figure out whatever was going on with Billy later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm actually pretty happy with this chapter except for the length. School is getting ready to start back again for me though, so yelling and/or encouragement is appreciated.


	4. Steve Harrington Partied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a bit longer and didn't cover everything I had outlined, so I guess that makes up for the last chapter. It's also nearly two in the morning so oops.

A few weeks had passed Steve tried to talk to Billy about whatever had happened in the locker room. Tommy hadn’t even looked at Steve in probably two weeks, let alone talked to or harassed him, so Steve wasn’t complaining. Billy, on the other hand, continued to push Steve’s buttons whenever he could, but neither of them had rammed the other into the lockers or the wall. Steve hadn’t had this few bruises since before Will disappeared. 

Because of his lack of black eyes, a swollen nose, and bruises mottling his skin like a Jackson Pollock painting, Steve felt like he could actually go to the party at Carol’s this weekend and be fully present there. He didn’t have to worry about what Nancy thought of his black eye, didn’t have to stress about accidentally bumping into a wall or piece of furniture and feeling his entire body seize with pain. His parents weren’t even home, (out of town for some Spring Gala or something his father was “required” to attend,) so he didn’t have to be concerned with sneaking in and out of the house. For the first time in a while, Steve was excited about going out to party.

After dropping off Dustin and Mike, Steve returned home, already beginning to feel the anticipation working through him. It was roughly a quarter past eight and the party started at nine-thirty. Steve was never first to a party, generally speaking, he arrived an hour or so after it started. By then it was in full swing and he didn’t have to wait through awkward, sober conversations before the alcohol kicked in and before people started feeling comfortable with the people they surrounded themselves with. Steve let everyone else do the heavy lifting of the party, then he arrived and enjoyed the product. A little selfish but very profitable on a personal level.

Stripping easily, Steve got in the shower and began his routine for going out. He tried to look like he didn’t really care about his appearance, just enough that he didn’t look like a slob. In reality, the process and care he took in getting ready took multiple steps and a variety of products that he curated to get the exact look he was going for, specifically with his hair. From volume adding shampoo and conditioner to the mousse, pomade, and Farrah Fawcett hair spray, Steve Harrington’s hair was no joke.

After finishing his hair, Steve strolled across the hall to his bedroom and glanced around his closet. It was cold outside but he knew that he’d end up getting overheated in a sweater once he actually got to the party. Snagging a t-shirt from the drawer, he pulled it over his head, ruffled his hair, then pulled on a pair of jeans so tight he had to jump to get them up all the way. Then came the cologne and the pre-party ritual of downing a shot of tequila. It burned all the way down his throat and sent fire blazing in his chest, but it was just what he needed. It brought back memories of days when he was still on top of the world as a junior in high school, could have any girl he pleased, and could get anything he wanted. He may have not had all that now, but as he felt the shot simmer in his stomach, it felt exactly the same as then.

His last pre-party ritual was to smoke exactly half a cigarette before letting it smolder in the ashtray. He’d learned it from some senior when he was just a freshman; Steve didn’t even remember his name. But the senior said that if you smoked only half and wasted the other half, it meant there was something on the line. If you failed to enjoy the party, you’d wasted half a cigarette for nothing. Steve had taken the advice to heart, and started smoking only half before every party he ever attended, and he continued the tradition. Sitting outside on the front step, he smoked exactly half, the held it as it burned down closer and closer to his fingers before abandoning it on the front walk and outing it with his heel.

Now he was ready.      

After a short drive and parking a block down the road, Steve arrived at Carol’s house to see the party fully underway. Teenagers were spilling outside, plastic red cups in hand and smelling of other people’s perfume or cologne. Steve squared his shoulders and strode in the front door, confidence rolling off him. He nodded to a few people, waved at Nancy and Jonathan, then walked straight to the kitchen to grab himself a red cup full of whatever. He didn’t even particularly care. He downed that cup, got a refill and drank half of that cup. He knew the effects of the alcohol would kick in soon, (the shot of tequila already was,) so he made his way to the living room which was packed with people dancing to music so loud it was really only bass. It reverberated through his chest. Swallowing another gulp of whatever was in his cup, (some sort spiked punch with one hell of a kick,) he abandoned it on a coffee table and threw himself into the center of the mass of pulsing bodies. A passing thought wondered if Billy was here, but he dismissed it as he started working his way through the people. He was immediately swept into the crowd and shoved into a girl. He didn’t know who she was or how old she was but she was hot and wrapping her arms around his neck. He didn’t need to know anything else.

He danced with her for a little while before excusing himself to get a beer. She didn’t seem sad to let him go, instead, she turned, found some other guy, and immediately started swaying with him and leaving syrupy kisses on his neck. Steve didn’t mind. That was part of the fun of parties–the impermanence of it all. Head fuzzy, he grabbed a can of beer from a cooler and popped it open before going to explore the basement. Usually the basement was where people talked and hung out. Steve wasn’t sure if he would talk or hang out with anyone, but it was worth taking a look at while he cooled down.

Thumping down the stairs, he was immediately hit with a wave of smoke, its wisps surrounding his head like the halo of a fallen angel. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs, he saw no one he immediately recognized as a friend. There was a couple making out in the corner, a few guys from the football team around a pool table, and a guy passed out in the middle of the floor. Steve was about to go back upstairs when he looked back to the couple. The girl’s hair was short and brown, slightly curly. Her neck was long and slender and around it was a gold chain that looked oddly familiar. Steve’s gut recognized her before his slightly altered mind did, because he felt his heart clench. Nancy. He knew it shouldn’t bother him. They broke up months ago, and he was better of now anyway. Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the fact he came here alone, but something in Steve snapped. He threw back the rest of the beer that was in his hand and stomped back up the stairs and to the kitchen where he downed a shot of some liquid that ignited his blood and made his eyes water. He didn’t need Nancy. He didn’t need anybody. He could have a fucking fantastic time with complete and total strangers.

He was back dancing before he realized where he was, his body and legs starting to move of their own accord. A different girl than before was soon wrapped around him, her breath hot and smelling strongly of vodka and any thought of Nancy dissipated like the smoke clouding the basement. Then Steve’s memory started to blur. The fuzziness in his head from earlier was now causing the world to tilt and move a little smoother than before. The feeling of the girl’s lips on his was melding with the sensation of her hands in his hair and his hands on her waist and he wasn’t quite sure where she ended and he began. He started to sway a little more, and the girl led him out of the throng of people and propped him up against a wall before being pulled away.

Looking absently around, Steve say a head of blond curls in the throng of people moving in the center of the throng. Billy. He was dancing alone, hollering and yelling with a can of beer in his hand. Steve giggled to himself. Billy looked carefree and open… almost happy. But artificially happy. As Steve supported himself against the wall, he found himself watching Billy closer, the way his eyebrows knit together every now and then before relaxing. How he somehow sang along to the song even though no one could hear the words. How the sweat ran from his hairline, down his temple and cheekbone to his jaw.

He was pretty, Steve concluded in his addled state. He suddenly understood why the girls seemed to flock to him.

Steve lost sight of Billy as he felt his knees start to give and his back start to slide down the wall. He was suddenly getting kind of tired. He would just lay here out of the way for a few minutes, then he’d go dance again. Letting his eyes drift closed, Steve let the black surround him.

“...eve. C’mon, Pretty Boy, wake up, time to go.”

Steve stirred, cracking an eye open. The light, though very dim, hurt his eyes and he closed his again, a groan escaping his lips. “‘m good, thanks,” he hummed.

“No, party’s over Harrington, and you need to get your ass home. Let’s go.”

Steve still didn’t know who was speaking to him. “No thanks. Mom said not to get in cars with strangers.”

“Dammit, Harrington. I want to go. I am not  _ nearly  _ drunk enough for this shit.”

Steve fully opened an eye and immediately regretted it. Billy was crouched beside him and looking at him like Steve had just keyed his car. “‘n go, ya ass,” Steve grumbled.

Rolling his eyes, Billy grabbed Steve’s arm and wrapped it around his shoulders before hauling them both to a standing position. “I gotta drop your sorry ass back at your house first. Where are your keys?”

“‘n  m’pocket,” Steve responded, eyelids heavy again.

Steve felt Billy rifling through his front pockets before fishing his keys out. Then they resumed walking, nearly tripping down the stairs. Billy somehow led them to Steve’s car, Steve didn’t know and didn’t care how, and shoved him in the passenger’s seat before slamming the door. Steve slumped over and leaned his head on the window. He doesn’t remember Billy getting in or starting the car, but suddenly the car was moving.

“Where’s your house?” Billy asked, his voice void of any enunciation.

“Chestnut Drive,” Steve mumbled, his head bumping relentlessly against the window.

The drive to Steve’s was silent save for the hum of the car and Steve’s occasional sniff or complaint. When they pulled into his driveway after Steve pointed it out, Steve stumbled out of the car and would’ve face planted into the concrete if not for Billy catching him and setting him back on his feet. Billy helped him to the door and opened it before guiding him to the couch.

“Thanks,” Steve managed. “Y’can crash here if y’want.”

Billy shook his head. “I shouldn’t, my dad—”

“Nah. You’re stayin’,” Steve slurred before promptly passing out.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! I feel like Billy was a little OOC but maybe I'm just being paranoid. As always, yelling and/or encouragement is appreciated. Thank you all for the kind words so far. I should probably go to bed now.


	5. Steve Harrington Had an Ally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give a HUGE thank you to eternalgoldfish and mAadMax for the constant support. You guys have kept me writing. 
> 
> No warnings for this chapter, just a lot of dialogue.

His head fucking  _ hurt.  _ It pounded and ached especially when Steve tried to open his eyes, so he kept them closed. Served him right, he supposed. He lost count of the number of drinks he had last night, and honestly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He remembered seeing Nancy and Jonathan in the basement and feeling something in him break, then going upstairs and taking a shot of… something. After that, he really only remembers lights, loud bass, and locks of curly blond hair. 

Groaning, Steve pried his eyes open and immediately regretted it. His headache re-centered itself in the middle of his forehead and started throbbing between his eyes. He scrunched his eyebrows together, squinted, and sat up. He was on the couch of his living room, which explained why his back hurt so much, and sunlight was streaming through the open blinds. On the glass coffee table in front of him was a glass of water, some Tylenol, and his keys, all placed near the corner like it had been deliberate. Steve knew that  _ he  _ didn’t put them there, especially if he was drunk enough to have a hangover of this magnitude. He sat still for a second, feet planted on the carpeted floor, trying to dredge up some memory of before he crashed on the couch.

Then it hit him. Billy. Billy  _ fucking  _ Hargrove had driven Steve home and let him collapse on the sofa.

Steve’s headache instantly worsened. This made absolutely no sense. Snatching the water and Tylenol off the table, Steve swallowed the pills and half the water before setting it down again. Why would Billy take him home? He didn’t have to. It’s not like he was socially obligated to, Steve had other friends who would’ve taken him home. Nancy would’ve… Steve stopped. No, Nancy wouldn’t have dropped him off. Not anymore. He and Jonathan weren’t really friends, not bring-him-home-after-getting-hammered friends, anyway. But… neither was Billy, or so he thought. So if Nancy and Jonathan wouldn’t have taken him home… who would have, other than Billy?

The answer was glaringly obvious to Steve but something in him wouldn’t let him drag it out of his subconscious.

Instead, he stood up, snagged the half-empty glass of water off the table, and deposited it in the sink before trudging up the stairs to shower. As the water rained down around him, Steve made up his mind. He was going to drive to the Hargrove’s house, march in there, and demand that Billy have a conversation with him because if… if Billy was going to be the person to make sure Steve got home safely when no one else cared, Steve believed he deserved to know why.

After showering, dressing, shoving food in his mouth, and deciding to let his hair do whatever it wanted for once, Steve plucked his keys from the coffee table and got in his car. Starting the car, he threw it in reverse and checked his mirrors before stopping and shifting back into park. He knew where the Hargroves lived; he’d dropped off and picked up Max a couple times. He knew what he had to do even, just walk up, ring the doorbell, and say he was here to see Billy. No big deal. Suddenly, though, the whole plan felt absurd and crazy. Why did he care that Billy brought him home? It’s not like he’d be going through this trouble if Jonathan had done the same.

A few minutes of Steve thinking himself in circles passed before he slowly shifted back into reverse and cautiously maneuvered onto the street. He was going to do it, if only for peace of mind. This whole back and forth, give and take that had been happening with Billy lately was exhausting Steve to no end. Steve just wanted to know where he stood with Billy.

On the way to the Hargrove’s house, Steve made a few wrong turns then considered turning around once, so it took him fifteen minutes to get there when it really should’ve only taken seven or eight. Once he did arrive, he shoved his car door open, strutted to the door, and jammed his finger on the doorbell before he could chicken out. Max opened the door after a minute and stared at Steve, confusion written on her face.

“...Steve?” she questioned.

“Uh, hey, Max,” Steve began. “Listen, I was wondering if Billy was home, I needed to talk to him about something.”

Her face screwed up before she replied. “He’s not, but he was supposed to be home, like, fifteen minutes ago, so he should be back any second. You can come in and wait, if you want.”

Steve felt tension go out of his shoulders. “Yeah, that’d be great, thanks.”

“Maxine!” Steve heard a male voice call. “Who was at the door?”

“Steve Harrington!” Max yelled back. “The guy who drives me sometimes.”

Steve heard footsteps from the other side of the house, then Neil Hargrove appeared as Max vanished around the corner, a smile pasted on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hi, Mr. Hargrove, nice to meet you,” Steve stated, sticking out a hand.

Neil shook it a tad too heartily, his palms cold and clammy. “Please, call me Neil. Tell me,” Neil released Steve’s hand, “what brings you out here?”

“I was just here to talk to Billy.” Steve watched Neil’s eyes visibly harden. “We’re partners for a school project.” Steve wasn’t sure what compelled him to lie, but it seemed to ease the venom in Neil’s gaze. “He said that we could take some notes on our idea before really getting into it on Monday.”

“Good to see him starting to take initiative. He should be home momentarily, if you’d like take a seat,” Neil gestured to the couch, “get comfortable?”

Steve felt like it wasn’t so much of an invitation as a command. Swallowing, he sat, fingers drumming on his thighs. Just then, Billy swung the door open and dumped his jacket on the floor by the door.

“Someone’s here to see you, Billy.” Neil’s voice sounded uncomfortably tight.

Billy’s eyes darted to Steve then back to Neil. “Thank you, sir. We’ll be in my room,” Billy replied, his tone controlled but barely.

As soon as both boys were in Billy’s room and the door was closed, Billy turned to Steve and hissed: “What the fuck are you doing here, Harrington?”

“I need answers. I’m tired of… whatever this is,” Steve admitted, gesturing between the two of them.

“What do you  _ mean  _ ‘whatever this is’?  _ This  _ isn’t a damn thing. We aren’t friends, we aren’t acquaintances, we just happen to exist at the same time in the same shithole.” Billy was getting gradually closer to Steve, almost backing him into the door.

“Yeah? Well ‘acquaintances’ don’t drive each other home after getting shitfaced or give each other tips on how to do the fucking  _ laundry _ ,” Steve bit back, standing straighter and getting in Billy’s face.

“Then what do you say we are, Harrington? Since you’re the one that cares so damn much.”

“I don’t  _ know,  _ Billy, because whenever I bring it up, you get all defensive and bitchy!” Steve was now advancing on Billy, Billy taking a step backward. “So if you would stop being so damn uptight, maybe,” Steve grabbed the front of Billy’s collar and pulled him closer while dropping his voice to a murmur, “we could figure this shit out.”

Billy stilled for a second, his blue eyes filled with rage as his nostrils flared and his eyebrows curved downward. Then he deflated, dropping Steve’s gaze. His shoulders drooped and his arms relaxed at his sides. Steve released his hold on Billy’s shirt. Silence filled the space between them, making it seem like miles separated them rather than feet.

After a few second ticked by, Steve finally asked: “Why did you take me home last night?”

Billy sunk to sit on his bed, back to Steve. “I couldn’t just leave you there. Party was over. You were drunk out of your mind. What was I supposed to do, let Carol dump your sorry ass on her front porch?”

Steve rounded the corner of the bed to be standing in front of Billy. “You could’ve asked someone else to do it.”

“But I didn’t.” Billy looked expectantly up at Steve.

Steve looked back, letting quiet fill the air before speaking again. “Why did you clean up my face those weeks ago?”

“Because you weren’t going to do it yourself.”

Steve stared openly at Billy, thoughts churning. He thought back to the locker room and Billy’s hands gently wiping at blood that wasn’t his fault. He thought back to last night and Billy catching him before he started eating concrete. He thought back to the dance floor and how the sweat rolled down his temples and his eyes saddened when he thought no one was looking.

Billy stood abruptly, interrupting Steve’s contemplation. “Don’t think this makes us friends, or anything, Pretty Boy.” A half smile graced Billy’s lips, which was the closest thing to a real smile Steve had ever seen on Billy Hargrove’s face.

Steve returned the grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Then, after a beat: “So… what does that make  _ this _ then?”

Billy extended a hand to Steve. “Allies?”

“Allies,” Steve agreed, shaking Billy’s hand.

As Steve drove home, he felt something in him settle. He no longer felt like he was missing something or that he would fuck something up and end up with a black eye because Billy was pissed at him. The constant questioning and theorizing that had been running in the back of his mind was finally quiet.

Allies. Not the resolution he was expecting but much, much better.

Allies. Not friends, but almost.

Allies.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed. Yell at me or whatever. I'm... accepting of this chapter's turn out, could've been better probably but it's two a.m. and I need to be up in a little under five hours, so this is as good as it's going to get.


	6. Steve Harrington Comes to a Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is, again, shorter than the usual. I'm sorry in advance, but I hope you still like it. Thanks for all the encouragement, love you guys!
> 
> Nothing serious in this chapter either.

"Hey, Harrington,” Billy shoulder-checked Steve has he rummaged through his locker. This was only the first school day since they came to their agreement and Steve was already sensing the shift between them. Any name calling seemed to be out of teasing instead of rooted in malice like before. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Steve replied easily, which somewhat surprised him.

Billy casually leaned his back against the lockers, his arms crossed over his chest. “You remember telling Neil that we had a school project, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve puzzled, pausing to look at Billy. “What about it?”

“So,” Billy huffed, rolling his eyes, “Neil asked me this morning whether I was going to yours or you were coming to ours. Since we don’t even have a damn project to work on—”

“You’re coming over,” Steve interrupted, slamming his locker.

Billy’s eyebrows bunched together like they did when he felt pressured to do something. “I didn’t even fucking ask—”

“Doesn’t matter.” Steve started walking to his next class, his memory flicking through his brief interaction with Neil and how uncomfortable he felt, especially when he brought up Billy. “You’re coming over,” Steve flung over his shoulder, then disappeared into the horde of students, Billy still leaning against the lockers.

After school, Steve gave directions on how to get to his house from the high school to Billy, then drove home, Billy a few minutes behind. Steve unlocked the front door and stepped inside, hanging his coat on the rack and putting his backpack beneath before stepping out of his shoes. Billy followed suit, his boots sitting in a nice row with Steve’s sneakers.

“I guess you’ve already seen this part of the house,” Steve remarked, thinking back to Friday night.

“Yeah, though it was dark and I was trying to make sure you didn’t vomit all over me, so I didn’t really get to appreciate the decor,” Billy teased, gesturing to a framed photo of Steve in the bathtub when he was a baby.

Steve flushed but stayed quiet. “The kitchen is through there,” Steve nodded, trying to change the subject, “the den, laundry room, and downstairs bathroom are around the corner, then my parent’s bedroom and bathroom, the upstairs bathroom, and my bedroom are upstairs.”

“Your bedroom, huh?” Billy smirked at Steve. “Sure you’ve had lots of fun in there considering your parents are literally never home.”

_ You could find out,  _ Steve thought for a split second before quickly dismissing it. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Hargrove.”

Billy snorted before making himself at home on the couch, adjusting socked feet on the coffee table and tipping his head back. Steve busied himself with getting the two of them something to drink, (his dad had left a shit ton of beer in the refrigerator and Steve was  _ not _ complaining,) then he returned to the living room and plopped down next to Billy, bringing the cold bottle to his lips. Billy looked over at him as he did so, taking a swig out of his own bottle. Their eyes caught and Steve felt himself turn to stone for a second, as if he was seated next to Medusa rather than Billy Hargrove. Steve was petrified under Billy’s gaze but he couldn’t understand why and it terrified him. Then Billy looked away and Steve felt sensation return to his limbs as he brought the bottle down from his lips.

As the afternoon progressed, Billy only finished the first bottle Steve had given him, claiming that any more and Neil would have his head, so they both switched to ice water. They talked shit and teased, nothing serious, but Steve kept getting distracted by the way Billy’s hair was falling around his face, the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, (even if it was at Steve’s expense,) and the way his eyebrows would instantly give away what he was thinking. It was very confounding and it was honestly starting to frustrate Steve. By the time Billy stood up, put his boots on, shimmied into his jacket, grabbed his backpack, and left, Steve was so befuddled he stood up, picked up his bat, and started pacing up and down the hallway. With the bat in his hand, he felt slightly more at ease but his thoughts kept churning.

Steve Harrington was not gay.

He had recently come out of a dedicated relationship with a woman and he was still a little heartbroken about it.

So why was it that instead of getting engrossed in some other girl the way he used to be with Nancy, he was suddenly so disturbed by Billy Hargrove?

In the past, he’d always been the one guy girls fell over themselves for. Now that he wasn’t, was he suddenly interested in what he couldn’t, shouldn’t, have? Billy Hargrove was an asshole. A douche-bag. A hot-heated idiot. But he was the one who was looking out for Steve when he couldn’t look after himself. That meant something to Steve. He liked being cared for, protected. He liked feeling that someone actually gave a shit about him when, for the past three months since he and Nancy broke up, he had felt neglected and ignored by everyone but a group of middle schoolers who needed him for a damn ride.

Then Billy tip-toed into Steve’s life before Steve could protest and put Steve back on his feet.

Tucking the bat back into a corner of his closet, Steve went downstairs and made himself a lame excuse for a dinner before finishing homework and going to bed. As he lay there, the house settling in for the night around him, Steve let his thoughts drift back to Friday night and how he had unceremoniously blacking out on the couch. What if he  _ hadn’t  _ fell asleep immediately and had fought harder for Billy to stay? Though his eyes were closed, Steve could see Billy standing before him, jacket on and holding Steve’s keys.

“I’ve got to go, Harrington,” he would’ve said, dropping Steve’s keys to the coffee table.

“You don’t,” Steve started. “You walked to the party and drove me back. It’s way too cold for you to walk all the way home.”

Steve could see Billy thinking through the dilemma, his eyebrows betraying how hard he was actually considering Steve’s offer.

“I can’t.” Then he would’ve walked out the door, shoulders back and been gone for ten minutes at the most before returning to the Harrington’s doorstep and knocking on the door. Steve would’ve let him back in, sat him on the couch and wrapped him in a blanket while he warmed up a glass of milk in the microwave.

When Steve returned, Billy would’ve been asleep on the couch and Steve would’ve curled up beside him, drank the half the cup of milk, and drifted off.

Sure, it would’ve made for a fucking awkward morning, but Steve would’ve woken up and felt the way he wanted. Secure, warm, and wanted, even if for only a second.

Or maybe it wouldn’t have been all that awkward. Maybe Billy would’ve looked down at Steve, half curled around him and fast asleep, and thought the same thing Steve did. Maybe he would feel secure, warm, and wanted, even if it was only for a second.

Steve opened his eyes slowly and rolled to face the window. The outside world was quiet and Steve could hear the thumping of his heart in his chest. He couldn’t think about Billy that way. Billy was currently the only person Steve had that was even half a friend that was around his age. Forget whether or not he way gay or straight, Steve didn’t even really care about that part. The one thing he didn’t want to lose was the friendship (or alliance, whatever,) that was beginning to form between him and Billy. It didn’t matter if Billy was gay or not, didn’t matter if Steve was gay or not, what mattered was possibly losing Billy.

Steve couldn’t let that happen.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, I guess. Not sure if I'm unhappy with it because it's short or because I'm struggling to think it's good. Yelling and/or encouragement is welcome and appreciated.


	7. Steve Harrington Was Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to a normal chapter length. Mentions of underage drinking, but no violence. Hope you guys enjoy!

Steve had been stewing on his feelings for two weeks now. Billy either hadn’t noticed how weird Steve had been lately or didn’t care. He still poked fun at Steve and razzed him both on and off the basketball court. Tommy seemed to have noticed the shift in Steve and Billy’s relationship because he stopped giving Steve such a hard time. Was it only to suck up to Billy? Definitely. Sleazy motives but it kept him off Steve’s ass, so Steve was satisfied. Even when Steve had been sitting on his throne of Hawkins High School, he and Tommy were never really friends, Tommy had just used Steve for popularity and girls. Now he was doing the same thing to Billy. Some things never change.

Since Steve’s realization, his parents had been home for a week and a half, but they had left that morning and wouldn’t be back until Wednesday. This meant Steve was on his own for dinner on a Friday night. He could go up to the diner, but he didn’t like eating alone as it was, eating alone in public was even worse. He briefly considered calling Billy and seeing if he wanted to get dinner with Steve, but he rejected the idea as soon as it came. Keeping things with Billy as they were was of utmost importance, and inviting him to the diner was crossing into dangerous territory in Steve’s mind.

Instead, he heated up some can of soup he found in the cabinet and made a grilled cheese sandwich. Not much, but there was plenty of other snack food Steve could munch on if he got hungry. After finishing homework, Steve curled on the couch and flicked on the television. He aimlessly changed channels, not liking anything and picking some random news channel for the noise. He zoned out while the reporter was droning on about the weather and was drifting off to sleep during the local news announcements. He didn’t know what time it was but also he didn’t care. He could fall asleep now on the couch and go up to bed later. His eyes fell closed and his head lolled to one side and he was asleep.  

“Harrington! Open the fucking door it’s cold as hell and I’m freezing my ass off!”  

Steve jumped and reached for his bat, which was upstairs. When he realized this, he also recognized that a demogorgon wouldn’t knock on the door and cuss him out to get inside. Standing and nearly tripping over the coffee table, Steve peeked through the window to see Billy Hargrove, despite it being almost—Steve glanced at the clock—eleven p.m., with his hands in his pockets, a cloud of steam coming from his lips, and a shiver running through his shoulders.

The door and Steve’s mouth were only half open and Billy was already pushing past Steve and into the house.

“Come in,” Steve mumbled while closing the door.

“Took you long enough, dickhead,” Billy complained, shucking off his coat and dumping it on the floor.

Steve furrowed his brow and gave Billy a quizzical look. “What happened? Where’s the Camaro?”

“She broke down around two miles down the road. It was either walk two miles here or walk five and get lectured before I got my foot in the damn door at home.” Kicking off his shoes, Billy stepped onto the carpet while aggressively rubbing his arms. “I parked her in the middle of some neighborhood and took the keys. I’ll push ‘er tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come help? We could push it here,” Steve offered.

“Hell no, Pretty Boy,” Billy grinned at Steve. “I’m not going out there unless I am very drunk or have slept for at least twelve hours.”

Steve chuckled. “Alright, fair, as long as you’re okay with leaving it there.”

“Your parents out of town again?”

Steve sighed. “When are they not?” Turning away from Billy, he headed toward the kitchen, looking back over his shoulder. “More fun for us though, huh?”

Billy was close behind Steve. “You know I’m not going to complain, Harrington.”

“Beer?” Steve offered.

“Obviously.”

Steve rummaged through the kitchen, grabbing a bag of chips and a few beers out of the refrigerator. Billy took a bottle from Steve, popped the top and took a long swallow before sauntering back into the living room. Steve watched as Billy’s hips swayed slightly and Steve could’ve sworn Billy was doing it on purpose. He didn’t usually walk like that, did he?

Steve had noticed a lot of small things Billy did in the past two weeks. He would sock Steve in the shoulder when he was feeling playful, flare his nostrils if he was angry, and walk around the locker room half naked after practice if he felt like he had something to prove. He had a way of knowing when to stop pushing Steve’s buttons before Steve tried to strangle him. He liked Marlboro cigarettes and Mountain Dew and couldn’t  _ stand  _ tapioca pudding. It was strange to Steve, knowing all these random tidbits about a person he was enemies with until a little over two weeks ago. Though, Steve supposed, he had really started paying attention to Billy when he helped Steve clean up his face. The only difference that occurred in the last two weeks was that Steve  _ liked  _ Billy. He liked what he felt when they were together like this.

He just wasn’t really sure what to do now that he knew this about himself.

As the night and early morning wore on, Steve found himself opening another bottle of beer and finishing it before raiding the liquor cabinet when Billy complained about needing “something stronger.” Snagging a bottle of whiskey that his dad had shoved in there because he “couldn’t throw it away,” Steve cradled it and two glasses as he walked back to the living room. At least now it wasn’t being wasted.

Steve poured both himself and Billy a glass then took a drink, feeling it burn from the back of his throat all the way down to his stomach. He felt a little heady and pleasant, like the world was now smoother and more fluid than before. Billy also seemed to be feeling a little tipsy as he downed the glass of whiskey because his words were spoken more easily and with a softer intention. As he finished his glass, Steve leaned back against the couch, his eyes wandering from the now black television to Billy beside him. Billy’s eyes were droopy but seemed light, his lips slightly chapped, and his cheeks a light shade of rosy pink. He was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen.

“Do you, uh… Do you want to see my room?” Steve asked, unsure if he wanted those words to be coming out of his mouth. “I just realized you hadn’t seen it yet.”

Billy set his empty glass on the coffee table. “Anything for you, Pretty Boy.”

Steve felt something in stomach shift but he said nothing, only stood up and gestured for Billy to follow. As they walked up the stairs Billy was speaking about something but Steve couldn’t understand a word. The sensation of his heart being in his throat, the blood rushing in his ears, and the effects of the alcohol all came together to render Steve’s brain useless. Stopping at the first door on the right, Steve opened the door and stepped inside.

Steve’s room was a little messy, there was a shirt on the floor and the bed wasn’t made, but it was his nonetheless. The walls were painted a light shade of blue and save for a few pictures and a poster of Aerosmith, they were bare. The desk in the corner was piled with old books from school. The dresser top was bare except for a can of Farrah Fawcett hairspray. Suddenly nervous, Steve looked to Billy who was examining the room with interest.

“So this is where the former King Steve lived his best high school memories, huh?” Billy questioned, nodding his head toward the bed while looking at Steve.

“That’s one way to put it,” Steve conceded, brushing past Billy to sit on the bed. Steve could feel electricity crackling where Billy’s shoulder and knocked against his. “It’s not much, I know. You can stay up here later, if you want, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Billy plopped down next to Steve and bounced up and down a few times. “I don’t want. You gave me free whiskey, it’s not like I’m going to take your booze and your bed.”

“Please, take it, I don’t mind the couch,” Steve retorted, his voice hardening a little.

“Harrington,” Billy warned, giving Steve a face. “I will take the couch.”

“I wasn’t raised in a barn, Hargrove, I have manners, unlike you.” Billy’s face seemed to be getting closer to Steve’s and it was making his breath come faster. “I will sleep on the damn couch like a good fucking host.”

Billy’s blue eyes were serious and intense as he leaned closer still to Steve, his arms on either side of Steve to keep Billy from falling on top of Steve. “Listen here, asshat,” Billy growled. “I am sleeping on the fucking couch.”

They were practically nose to nose, breath mingling and eyes locked. Steve’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure it was hammering on the inside of his ribs. Billy’s breath fanned against his mouth and Steve was so close he could count the light freckles that were hidden in Billy’s complexion. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was their proximity, but Steve’s eyes flicked from Billy’s eyes to his lips and back again. Then Steve pressed his lips to Billy’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is, to be continued as always. Thank you all for the sweet words and encouragement; reading your messages literally makes my day. That being said, I'm exhausted, so I'm going to go to bed.


	8. Steve Harrington Misunderstood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for the encouraging comments, they mean the literal world to me. Took a little longer on this chapter to make sure it was done right. I hope you enjoy it!

Billy froze, going rigid above Steve.

Shit. Steve fucked up. Shit, shit, shit, he was going to lose Billy now, too.

Then Steve felt the tension leave Billy as he started to kiss Steve back and Steve  _ melted.  _ The kiss was sweet and gentle and tasted like whiskey, wildly different from what Steve had expected from Billy. Billy acted so brash and overbearing that Steve assumed he kissed people the same. Instead, he kissed Steve like he was scared of breaking him. Like Steve was fragile and needed to be treated with care. Like Steve was worth caring about. After a few seconds, Billy took advantage of his arms being on either side of Steve and pulled Steve closer before scooping him onto his lap. Steve’s head swam from adrenaline and alcohol. Carefully so as not to break the kiss, Steve arranged his legs so Billy’s waist was between Steve’s knees while his shins caged in Billy’s thighs. Steve’s hands came up to cup Billy’s face and Billy leaned into one of them as he pulled away. Billy’s lips were red and wet and his eyes were shining and smiling. Without breaking eye contact, Billy turned his head slightly and kissed Steve’s palm, his lips finding the base of Steve’s thumb. His hands slid down Steve’s back and around to his waist where they stayed, his thumbs rubbing circles into Steve’s shirt.

Steve wasn’t sure what to do with himself. When Steve had initially kissed Billy and received no response, Steve fully anticipated being shoved off the bed and being punched, slapped, or kicked. Since none of those things happened, Steve was unprepared and looking down at Billy from where he perched on his lap with not a clue of what to do.

“I guess we don’t have to fight over who’s sleeping on the couch anymore,” Steve offered, his voice breathy.

Billy smirked. “Are you saying we share the bed now, Harrington?”

“No, I’m saying we both sleep on the damn floor.” Steve cocked his head and stared at Billy looking unamused.

Billy laughed, taking his hands from Steve’s waist and leaning back. Steve missed their warmth as soon as they were gone. “Alright, alright, we share the bed. You happy now, Pretty Boy?”

“With you inevitably hogging the blankets?” Steve rolled his eyes. “Hell no.”

“Maybe that’s just my way to get you to stay close,” Billy grinned.

After a few more lazy kisses and finally extricating himself from Billy’s grasp, (though he didn’t really want to,) Steve went to the bathroom, changed into a pair of pajama pants and a sleep shirt, and brushed his teeth before returning. By the time he got back, Billy was already in bed, all of the covers piled on top of him. Steve shot him a look, but Billy only gave him an innocent face in response.

When Steve went to the cover-less, pillow-less side of the bed and laid down, turning his back to Billy, Billy snorted from his side of the bed. “Oh, that’s how you’re gonna be, huh, Harrington?”

“It was a couple half-assed kisses,” Steve retorted, trying to keep the smile from his voice. “I don’t owe you anything.”

“You saying I’m a shitty kisser?” Billy challenged while being accompanied by the rustling of blankets.

Steve turned toward Billy. “You could redeem yourself, y’know,” Steve teased.

“I don’t have to do shit for you.”

“Okay,” Steve conceded, rolling back over. After a few minutes of silence, Billy was covering him in blankets and tugging Steve closer. Steve’s back was flush to Billy’s stomach and his arms were slung loosely around Steve’s waist. “Gave up?” Steve questioned, half looking over his shoulder at Billy.

Billy hummed in response, his eyes already closed.

Stifling a yawn, Steve snuggled closer to Billy and closed his eyes. His entire body was relaxed and for once, Steve’s mind was still. He wasn’t going through all the mistakes he’d made, he wasn’t worried about a demogorgon barreling through the empty house, he was at peace.

In the morning, Steve woke to find his face inches from Billy’s and their arms and legs tangled in bed sheets and each other. Billy was still sleeping, his mouth open slightly and his eyelashes fanning out across his cheeks. His face was so relaxed it was almost like looking at a different person. Usually there was so much tension in his forehead and gaze that seeing him like this now painted him in a drastically different light. He was beautiful like this. Steve examined his features for a few minutes more before cautiously extracting himself from the knotted limbs to go downstairs and make breakfast.

As Steve scooted scrambled eggs around a pan, he felt a body behind him and hands slipping under the hem of Steve’s t-shirt. Billy’s head rested on Steve’s shoulder, watching as Steve cooked.

“Morning, Pretty Boy,” Billy murmured, his voice still sleepy and raspy.

"Morning,” Steve replied, turning his head toward Billy. “You sleep well?”

“Mhm,” Billy hummed, closing his eyes.

Steve shrugged his shoulder a couple of times, rousing Billy and causing a look of frustration to cloud his features. “You want cheese on your eggs?”

“Yeah,” Billy sighed, taking a step back from Steve and opening a cabinet. “Where are the plates?”

“Cabinet by the fridge.”

“Thanks,” Billy grunted, grabbing two plates and setting them near the stove.

Steve sprinkled some cheese on the eggs, then scooped half onto one plate and half onto another. Passing one to Billy, he nodded to the living room. “Eat on the couch?”

Billy nodded, took a fork from Steve, then wandered into the living room, Steve close behind. Both sat on the couch and slouched as they put bare feet on the coffee table. Taking a bite, Steve bumped Billy’s foot with his own, then glanced at Billy with a smirk. Billy slammed his foot into Steve’s and mumbled something under his breath before stealing Steve’s plate and holding it away while giving Steve an unimpressed look.

“Dammit, Hargrove,” Steve cursed.

Billy put his own plate on the coffee table, Steve’s still suspended just out of reach. Steve looked from the plate to Billy and back again. Suddenly, Steve lunged for the plate, but Billy used his free arm to grab Steve and pull him back so that they were nose to nose.

“That was a cheap trick, dickhead,” Steve whispered. “Stealing my food just to get me on your lap.”

“How else was I supposed to get you here?” Billy quipped.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve rolled his eyes. “Maybe you could’ve  _ asked _ ?”

“I don’t ask, Harrington,” Billy explained, angling their noses so that their lips were barely brushing. “I take.”

“The hell you do,” Steve shoved himself off Billy and snatched back his plate, shoveling its remaining contents into his mouth while giving Billy a triumphant smile.

After finishing and dumping their plates in the sink to be dealt with later, the boys piled on their clothes and began the walk to the abandoned Camaro. It was cold as shit outside, Billy wasn’t joking about that. The two miles seemed to stretch on forever, but finally, after close to half an hour, they arrived at the Camaro. Frost had swirled its way across the windshield, creating curves and designs that glittered in the sun. Billy unlocked the car and slid in the driver’s seat, firing up the engine and blasting the heat on the windshield.

Steve walked around to the passenger’s seat, opening the door and sticking his head in. “You got an ice scraper?”

Billy turned and rummaged around the backseat before producing an ice scraper and passing it to Steve. As Steve scraped, he watched Billy checking the lights on his dashboard and pressing on the break occasionally while still in park. He finished, tossed the scraper in the back, then sat in the passenger’s seat. Billy applied pressure to the break, shifted gears, and started rolling forward, everything seeming to operate fine.

“That son of a bitch…” Billy swore, then began driving back to Steve’s house.

“So… nothing’s wrong?” Steve inquired.

“Not that I can tell, no. I'll check under the hood once I get home.”

A few silent miles smeared by, Billy’s eyebrows drawing closer and closer together and lower and lower on his face. Steve kept stealing glances at him from his seat, but said nothing. Something was going on. After about five minutes, Billy pulled into Steve’s driveway and parked. The look that concerned Steve was still etched on Billy’s face. Steve reached for Billy’s hand which was still on the stick. Not looking at Steve, Billy jerked his hand away and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“Get out,” he demanded, eyes staring holes in Steve’s garage door.

“Billy, I—”

“Get out, Harrington,” Billy threatened, now shifting his eyes to Steve.

“What’s wrong?” Steve spluttered, not understanding.

“Just… just leave, Steve.” Billy’s eyes softened for a second, then hardened again, his voice raising. “Get out! Get out of the damn car!”

Confused, Steve stumbled out of the car and slammed the door, then watched as Billy sped out of the driveway and tore off down the street, tires squealing.

Steve’s heart squeezed in his chest. What had he done? Billy was fine this morning, teasing and gentle like he had been last night. What happened? What changed?  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. I'm still deciding on an ending, but I do know it's coming soon, four or five more chapters and MAYBE an epilogue but that's still in the air. As always, yelling and/or encouragement is appreciated. Stay tuned!


	9. Steve Harrington Needed a Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the uh... interesting comments on the last chapter, waking up to them today really brightened my day. Hope you all enjoy this slightly longer than usual chapter as a half-apology for the ending of the last.

The rest of Saturday passed, though Steve didn’t really live any of it. It streaked by just like the scenery did in the passenger’s seat of Billy’s car; too fast to make sense out of any of it unless Steve really focused on one particular detail. So when Dustin called Steve and asked if he would be willing to take everyone to the arcade the following afternoon, Steve practically jumped at the chance. He needed to get out of the house and away from the dishes he and Billy had left in the sink, the half empty bottle of whiskey sitting by the couch, and the bed sheets that smelled like him. 

Steve slept on the couch that night.

Sunday afternoon finally came after what seemed to be an eternity and a half, and Steve was parked outside the Henderson’s house on the street, waiting for Dustin. He’d already tapped the horn a few times, and the front door had opened then closed again rapidly. So he knew Steve was waiting, but Steve didn’t know what was taking so damn long. He was supposed to have picked up Mike five minutes ago as it was, and if he took as long as Dustin was, Mrs. Sinclair was going to have his head by the time he arrived to get Lucas. After another minute, Dustin tripped out the front door, his hat on crooked and hands still rummaging through his pockets.

He flung open the passenger’s door and tumbled into the seat, slammed the door, then turned to Steve, mouth already running one hundred miles a minute. “So I know we’re late but listen, the guys will understand and I really needed to get change but Mom wouldn’t  _ give it to me  _ because my room wasn’t clean…”

Steve stopped paying attention sometime after that, nodding and humming along when it seemed appropriate. Normally he’d be all for Dustin’s chatter, but today just felt… wrong. It was like everything in his house had been shifted two inches to the right or he was missing his rear view mirror; not obvious enough to instantly know what’s wrong but enough of a difference to feel off. Only, Steve knew what was wrong, he didn’t understand why he was so hung up about it.

Pulling into the Wheeler’s driveway, Steve heard Dustin mumble something along the lines of: “sure, pull into the Wheeler’s driveway but not mine,” then something about Nancy. Steve slapped Dustin’s thigh. Dustin stuck out his tongue in response. Rolling his eyes, Steve honked the horn and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Mike walked out a few minutes later, (Mrs. Sinclair might as well own Steve’s soul now and that woman was  _ not  _ to be messed with,) holding a Ziploc bag of quarters in one hand and a half eaten cookie in the other. Mike didn’t even have the door open before Steve was lecturing him about getting crumbs in his car.

“I won’t Steve,” Mike promised.

Dustin snickered. “I thought friends didn’t lie.”

Steve watched Mike shoot Dustin a look in the rear view mirror but no words were exchanged. They too began chatting after a minute, going on about their differing opinions on some science fiction movie Steve had never heard of.

The next stop was the Sinclair’s, and Lucas was waiting on the front stoop by the time Steve drove in front of their house.

“You’re late,” Lucas stated, sliding in next to MIke in the backseat.

“Year, I know, sorry,” Steve sighed, nodding his head toward Dustin. “It’s because this asshat took ten minutes to get his shit together.”

“I did not take ten minutes,” Dustin defended.

Steve raised his eyebrows.

“It was like, eight and a half,” Dustin corrected, crossing his arms and huffing.

As Steve put his car back in drive, he asked: “Do I need to pick up Max?”

“No,” Lucas started, “I talked to her on the phone today and she mentioned something about Billy driving her?”

Steve’s stomach knotted and untangled itself as his heart lodged itself in his throat. It’s not like Billy normally hung out with the kids, usually only Steve did that, but what if he did this time? Would he say something to Steve or would he just drag him to the parking lot and knock his teeth in?

Steve was still stressing about what he would do if he actually had to talk to Billy when he parked in the Byer’s driveway. Will was out of the door before Steve could blare on the horn, waving over his shoulder, probably to Joyce. He, like Mike, was clutching a bag of quarters in one hand and he tried to shove it in his pocket as he walked to the Beamer. Mike swung open the car door and Will climbed over Mike to sit in the middle. When Steve drove the four of them, this was usually how they sat; Dustin in the passenger’s seat because he was Steve’s secret favorite, Mike behind Steve, Will in the middle because he was the smallest, and Lucas behind Dustin.

On the way to the arcade, the boys all started talking to and over each other. It brought Steve back to a time when he was their age. Steve was actually around their age when he started thinking he might like boys for the first time. He had been thirteen and had gone to his first middle school, boy/girl party. Up until this point, all the birthday parties he had ever been to were exclusively boys, because girls were gross. Maybe it was middle school, maybe it was their age, maybe it was the awakening of teenage hormones, but suddenly girls weren’t meant to be teased and laughed at anymore. The parents, (Tommy’s parents, actually,) had abandoned the kids in the basement to be left to their own devices with promises of cake and presents in an hour. Like all stupid, immature, hormonal kids were, as soon as the parents closed the basement door, someone proposed playing spin the bottle. Steve knew the concept and didn’t really care if they played or not, so he sat in the circle with everyone else. Tommy was supposed to go first since it was his party, but just before he spun the bottle, he stopped and looked up.

“What if it lands on another boy?” he asked. Innocent enough question, and Steve figured that if it landed on a boy, Tommy would have to kiss him too, right? Part of the thrill. Except a few of the girls audibly said “ew,” and a couple of the boys laughed.

“You spin again, obviously,” Carol had explained, curling her hair around her finger.

Tommy nodded, said, “Oh. Okay,” then spun the bottle. It landed on Susan, he kissed her, they laughed, and the game continued.

Except, Steve wasn’t over Carol’s answer to Tommy’s question. What was wrong with kissing a boy? Sure, their parents might get a little weird if they found out, but Steve was pretty sure their parents would get weird if they found out they played spin the bottle at all. What was so different about kissing a boy if you were a boy than kissing a girl? Steve kept his quandaries to himself though, knowing someone would laugh at him if he said anything. So he mulled it over and thought about it for some time even after the party.

When Steve was fifteen, he had his first crush on a boy. He’d liked girls before that, even had a girlfriend, (it was Susan, the girl Tommy kissed at his thirteenth birthday party,) but they broke up after a couple weeks because her parents told them to. Steve didn’t mind, he just moved on to liking the next pretty girl in his grade. Except, it wasn’t a pretty girl, it was a pretty boy. His name was Adam and he had the nicest looking face Steve had ever seen. His nose was narrow and sharp, but his lips looked soft and were often smiling which seemed to tone down the intensity that his nose could have given his face. His eyes were a warm brown that reminded Steve of his Dad’s coffee before he added cream. Steve looked at him and he felt his heart jump and his insides twist just like they used to when he looked at Susan. He didn’t do anything about it, for obvious reasons. But Steve accepted that part of himself in stride. He didn’t flaunt it or really even talk about it, but he assumed he’d find a nice girl his parents liked one day and that would be that. Liking boys didn’t matter if you liked girls too, right?

Then came Billy. Billy Hargrove. Loud, obnoxious, brash, a grade A douche, and one of the biggest assholes Steve had ever met, Billy Hargrove. Blew in on a Californian breeze and wreaked havoc on Hawkins, Indiana, Billy Hargrove.

Beautiful, eyes like a stormy ocean, smile like the devil, and fists like a hurricane, Billy Hargrove.

And Steve  _ liked  _ Billy. Because he had depth and substance like no one Steve had ever met before. Steve could just tell. But now… Steve had done something and he feared he’d lost Billy for good, now.

Just then, Steve pulled into the parking lot of the arcade. It wasn’t crowded by any means, just a few cars here and there, so Steve took one of the spots near the front and parked, letting the kids pile out and rush inside the building before he even attempted to get out. Pulling the key from the ignition, Steve stepped out of the car and ran a hand through his hair. He leaned against the car, taking a moment for himself before going into the arcade and subjecting himself to the chaos that was the boys and Max at the arcade. Idly scanning the parking lot, he saw a blue Camaro at one end of the lot that he hadn’t noticed before. Propped against the hood was Billy, a cigarette in his mouth. As he exhaled smoke, Steve watched him look toward Steve for a few seconds, drop his cigarette on the asphalt, step on it, then get in his car.

He was gone before Steve could make any attempt to talk to him.

Steve knew it was probably for the best, but he still felt his heart sink in his chest as he entered the arcade. Then Steve was ushered toward one of the consoles and Billy Hargrove was forgotten for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! As always, I love hearing from you all! You mean the world to me. I promise to update soon, and thank you again for all your support. It is getting late though (why do I write these so late?) so I should probably head to bed so I'm not an actual zombie tomorrow. Keep checking in, I'll update soon. Ciao.


	10. Steve Harrington Gave Billy Hargrove a Bloody Nose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all. This is. A thing. 
> 
> Slurs and some violence, be safe.

After dropping the boys off a few hours later, Steve collapsed on the couch and stared at the wall. His parents still weren’t home. He had no idea what was going on with Billy. Other than that, he didn’t really have any friends, so he was stuck being alone. 

He deliberated calling the Hargrove’s and asking to talk to Billy. He didn’t know what it would accomplish, if anything at all, but something rooted in his gut told him that he had done something wrong. He had pushed too hard or not given enough or… Steve didn’t know. Glancing at the phone, Steve reached for it three different times before giving up and glaring daggers at the wall again. His thoughts wandered but they always seemed to find their way back to Billy like he was true north and Steve’s thoughts were a compass. You could hold up stronger magnet to influence the needle, but as soon as the magnet was moved away, the compass would return to true north. Steve would be momentarily distracted by something, but as soon as the distraction vanished, his thoughts would go back to Billy.

Restless, Steve stood and walked to kitchen, back into the living room, up the stairs, to his room, to his parents’ room, then back down the stairs before sitting on the couch and holding his head in his hands. He couldn’t do this anymore. By sitting around the house with nothing to do, his brain was given too much freedom to do whatever it pleased. Grabbing his keys, he slammed the door and got in the Beamer to drive. He didn’t know where he was going or why, but he felt better than he did when he was wandering aimlessly around the house and letting his consciousness consume him.

He passed the Wheeler’s. He passed the cinema. He passed the police station. The sun was setting and sending orange, golden light across Hawkins and painting it in a light that almost erased all the ugly that hid behind pastel store fronts and well trimmed lawns. Steve could remember so many bad things happening in Hawkins that it was starting to cloud out the good. The movie theater sign was still stained slightly pink from when Tommy and Carol humiliated Nancy. The alley behind the drug store was where Steve had to pick up Will after some kid had called him gay and dragged him out there to beat him up and leave him for the wolves. The house on the corner had been abandoned ever since the family who lived there had split because the father was cheating on his wife. So many stories, so many lives that had been ruined in this tiny corner of the world. Steve didn’t want to think that his story and his life would be forever tied to Hawkins, but it was starting to look like that was going to be the way it was.

Eventually, Steve wound up outside the Hargrove’s house, and he had to wonder if that was his intent all along. The lights were all on, warm light streaming from the windows into the darkening light. People moved in front of the windows and Steve could tell who was who. Max was the shortest, obviously, and Steve saw another petite figure which must be Susan, Billy’s stepmom, then finally there was Neil, tall and casting a shadow that seemed to dominate more space than it should.

Steve couldn’t find Billy’s shorter, more muscular frame in the windows. Was he home? Was he in the darkened room that might be his, if Steve remembered his brief trip there correctly? He thought back to the previous night, the feeling of Billy’s lips on his, the sensation of falling asleep next to someone who was going to  _ stay.  _ Then Billy fucking left, just like everyone else had. His parents, his friends, Nancy… Billy Hargrove was another name to add to the list of people who couldn’t bear to be with him anymore. Angry tears bubbled in Steve’s eyes and he let them overflow onto his cheeks and off his nose. Sniffing and wiping his nose on the sleeve of his jacket, his pressed his foot to the brake and had his hand halfway to the stick to shift into drive when  _ something  _ crashed onto the hood of his trunk. Jerking his gaze to the rear view mirror, Steve saw Billy with both hands on the trunk and eyes blazing. Ripping his key out of the ignition, Steve flung open the door and stepped outside, keys gripped in one fist and wetness still splotching his cheeks.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” Billy growled, streaking his hands across the trunk and making a horrible screeching noise. “You can’t be here.”

Steve didn’t speak, the lump in his throat making it nearly impossible. 

“You have to leave,  _ now _ ,” Billy threatened, voice low as he came closer to Steve.

“No,” Steve stated quietly. Billy stalked forward, reminding Steve of a predator toying with injured prey that was already doomed from the start.

“What was that,  _ faggot _ ?” Billy snarled, his face so close to Steve’s that some of Billy’s spit splattered onto Steve’s face.

Another tear trickled down Steve’s cheek. Steve though he saw something in Billy’s eyes shift, but then he laughed in Steve’s face and Billy was clutching his jaw before Steve realized that he’d punched Billy at all. Taking a fistful of Billy’s shirt, Steve shoved him against his car.

“You…” Steve’s voice was low and thick, “You left.”

Billy went still, his jaw slack and blood oozing from a split lip. His eyes were locked onto Steve’s but Steve couldn’t tell what was going on behind them.

“You left,” Steve repeated, his hold on Billy beginning to loosen as more tears dribbled down his face.

“I… I know I did,” Billy replied softly.

Then his fist connected with Steve’s temple.

Cursing, Steve righted himself and backed away, fists raised and keys lost. “We can’t just avoid this, Billy.”

“We can avoid it,” Billy swung at Steve again but missed, “if I want to.”

Ducking under another one of Billy’s punches and throwing one himself, Steve managed to land a hit on Billy’s cheek. “But why do you want to, Billy?” Steve panted.

Billy didn’t answer, instead he grabbed Steve’s wrist and twisted it behind him, forcing it between Steve’s shoulder blades, causing Steve to wince. “I want to,” Billy whispered, his lips grazing Steve’s ear as he spoke, “because I fucking like you, Steve.” Steve stopped struggling. “And if we talked about whatever the hell happened last night,” Billy paused, released his hold, and pushed Steve against the car, forearm pressed to his throat. “I’d have to come to terms with it.”  

Steve froze. “You… what?” he choked out. 

“Don’t make me say it again, smartass.” Steve stared blankly, his brain too stuffed full of adrenaline to fully process whatever was coming out of Billy’s mouth. 

“What do you… What are you…” Steve trailed. 

“Just get in the damn car. We’re going to yours.” Stooping, Billy picked up the keys from the ground and got comfortable in the driver’s seat. After a beat, Steve walked around to the passenger’s seat and sat, unable to stop looking at Billy. Blood was trickling out of his nose and mouth and dripping on his t-shirt. Then he started the car, revved the engine, and tore off down the street.

Once they arrived at the Harrington house, Billy parked and turned off the car but made no move to get out. Confused, Steve glanced at Billy but Billy was focused on the garage door in front of him.

“Did I make you cry?” Billy asked after a moment, not looking at Steve. Any of the anger that had been there not ten minutes ago seemed to have dissipated like the steam curling from a cup of coffee.

“Yeah. You did,” Steve admitted softly. 

Billy sat for a moment more, then got out of the car. Steve followed suit, then Billy waited patiently for Steve to unlock the door and enter before stepping inside, locking the door behind him, and closing the curtains. 

“What the fuck, man?” Steve questioned after a moment, reality finally making itself known to him. Billy Hargrove had just punched him so hard he bleed and now he was standing in Steve's living room.

Billy approached Steve, one hand finding Steve’s waist and acting surprisingly tentative. “I couldn’t exactly do this in the middle of the street,” he muttered, seeming almost… nervous?

“Oh, sure, but you can deck me like I’m—” Billy cut off the last part of Steve’s sentence, lips slotting into Steve’s easily. Steve started to kiss him back but then pulled away, eyebrows drawn. “Wait, hold on.”

“What,” Billy began, walls going up. “You suddenly don’t want me—”

“Stop,” Steve interrupted. “Did I say that?” Billy looked blankly at him, still on the defensive. “We need to sort this out.”

“Sort what out?” Billy huffed.

“You, me, us. I can’t… I can’t do this if you’re going to leave.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the end of that garbage. Not super pleased with this one but what can I do? As always, I love all the encouragement and/or yelling. Love y'all.


	11. Steve Harrington Helped

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Back at it again with an update, hope you all enjoy. Brief bits of violence in the beginning. Stay safe kiddos.

“‘If you’re going to leave,’” Billy repeated, his tone mocking. 

Steve crossed his arms but said nothing, only stared intently at Billy.

Billy’s fists were balled at his sides. “Listen, Harrington,” he sneered. “I don’t know what you were expecting, some ‘happily ever after,’ or some shit?” Billy snorted. “I don’t  _ do  _ happily ever after.” Billy turned toward the door but Steve grabbed his wrist and pulled him back.

“No.” Steve gripped Billy’s shoulders tightly, and for a second, he thought he saw Billy’s eyes cloud with fear. “You are going to stay here and we are going to talk like grown ass  _ adults _ .”

Billy’s face twitched. “Get off me,” he threatened, voice dark.

“Not until we work this shit out.”

“Get OFF ME!” Billy roared, escaping Steve’s grasp and throwing a punch in Steve’s vague direction, though he was off by at least a foot.

He attempted to hit Steve again, this time landing a blow on Steve’s collarbone. Hissing with pain, Steve instinctively hunched over and grabbed at it, knowing there would be a bruise blossoming there in a moment. Nostrils flaring, Steve glowered at Billy and noticed tears beginning to spill down his cheeks as he bellowed and brought his fist down again, force waning. Steve blocked his face, then grabbed Billy’s wrists, watching the anger drain from him as his breath came in shaky gasps and the tears came down harder and faster.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Steve murmured, releasing Billy and wrapping tentative arms around his broad shoulders. Billy buried his face in Steve’s chest, hunching down and making his usually larger than life form into something so tiny and fragile that Steve struggled to know what to do. They stayed that way until Billy’s breathing slowed and his sniffles were spaced further apart. Billy pulled away and looked at Steve, face blotchy and wet, eyes red and puffy.

“You okay?” Steve asked gently, his knuckled brushing Billy’s cheek.

Releasing a wobbly breath, Billy nodded and tapped Steve’s hand away. “Sorry,” he muttered.

Steve paused. “Just… try not to do it again.”

Billy swallowed and looked away. “Can we sit?”

“Uh, yeah,” Steve answered, shaking his head to clear his mind. “Where do you want to sit?”

“Somewhere with alcohol, preferably.” He gave Steve a wry smile.

“We both know that’s probably not the best idea.”

“Yeah…” Billy sighed. “Your room?”

“Sure,” Steve consented, walking toward the stairs.

As soon as they reached Steve’s room, Billy closed the door, though Steve was unsure why considering they were the only ones in the house, then sat on the bed, staring at his hands. Sitting next to him, Steve reached over and slowly took one of Billy’s hands then waited for Billy to speak.

Seconds stretched into minutes, and Steve was starting to feel awkwardness settle around them so he started to pull away, saying: “Here, let me turn on some—”

“No,” Billy interrupted, squeezing Steve’s hand. “I just… Give me a minute.”

Steve settled back in, looking at the blank wall across from him.

“Listen, Steve,” Billy began, tapping his free hand against his thigh. “I… Neil.” He stopped, his fingers going still. “He can’t,” he swallowed, “I… I… I didn’t…”

“It’s okay,” Steve encouraged softly.

“California,” he started again. “I moved here from California.”

Steve nodded.

“We moved here specifically because Neil got a job here. But the whole reason he had to get a new job was… my fault. I always dumped everything on Maxine for acting out in school or whatever because I wanted an out but… I realized he’d lost his job because of me.” Billy finally turned his head toward Steve and let silence fill the space for a second. “Neil’s company didn’t… They didn’t like him drinking.” Another pause. “And… Neil drinks when he feels like things are out of his control and I…” Billy chewed his lip and frowned. “I was with this guy, Justin. Someone… the school found out and Neil flipped his shit. He started drinking. He lost his job.”

Steve took their conjoined fingers in his lap and started rubbing circles on the back of Billy’s hand. “Billy—”

“No, stop.” Billy closed his eyes. “You’re going to tell me some huge ass lie about how it’s not my fault.”

“Because it’s not. Your father’s decision to drink was his and his alone. You had nothing to do with it.”

“You don’t understand!” Billy burst out, snapping his eyes open and staring at the wall. “If they hadn’t found out, Neil wouldn’t have had a reason to fuck it all up to begin with.”

“Billy, look at me.” Billy complied. “He would’ve found another reason to. This isn’t your fault.”

“But  _ my  _ reason is what he chose, and now we’re stuck here in this shithole and Susan is fucking miserable and hates the cold and Maxine—”

“Hey,” Steve started. “Max is great. She has a roof over her head and has the dorkiest but best friends her age in Hawkins. Susan can get over it, tell her to buy a parka or some mittens or some shit,” Billy cracked a smile, “and Hawkins isn’t that bad once you get to know it.”

“I… you’re right,” Billy conceded. “Just doesn’t feel that way all the time.”

“I know,” Steve offered, waiting a moment before pressing a kiss to Billy’s cheek.

“I want to be… I like you Steve. I want this. I just… can’t.”

Steve let out a breath and nodded, eyes on the floor. “I understand.”

“But Steve… what if… what if I could?”

Steve slowly shifted his attention to Billy, biting his bottom lip. “What do you mean?”

“We try. If we ever feel like something’s going wrong, we stop?” Billy suggested, seeming so timid Steve was unsure of whose hand he was holding.

“We try,” Steve agreed.  

Billy let his head fall to Steve’s shoulder and in that moment, Steve felt like everything might turn out alright.

After a few minutes of quiet, Steve wrapped an arm around Billy’s shoulders and wound his fingers through his hair, rubbing his scalp lightly. Snuggling closer, Billy leaned closer to Steve, letting out a breath.

“Hey, Pretty Boy,” Billy stated, head still tucked under Steve’s chin.

“Hm?” Steve hummed in reply.

“Mind if I stay here for the night?”

“Not at all. It’s a school night though, will your dad…” Steve trailed, unsure of how to finish.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow. We’re trying, remember?” Billy looked up at Steve, their faces inches apart.

“Trying, got it.” Steve agreed, glancing down at Billy’s lips.

“Can I kiss you?” Billy murmured.

“Please.”

Like before, the kiss was soft and easy and Steve felt instantly at ease, his mind going blank and bliss overtaking him. Billy’s hands slid around Steve’s waist as Steve reached up to grab at the collar of Billy’s shirt. Breaking apart for a second, Billy kissed Steve again, this time harder and a bit faster, his hands finding their way under Steve’s shirt and beginning to massage the muscles in Steve’s lower back.

Steve didn’t know how long they stayed like that, exchanging snide remarks or quiet compliments between kisses, but by the time they finally broke apart, Billy’s hair was mussed and sticking up in places and Steve was sure he wasn’t much better.

“I’m uh,” Steve’s voice was thick and low, “I’m gonna go change, you want a pair of sweatpants?”

Billy cocked an eyebrow. “Sweatpants?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“What, no sleeping naked?”

Steve felt his jaw prickle with heat and his neck start itching which meant he was definitely blushing. “I… uh… I mean, go for it? I just figured it’s kind of cold, I guess?”

Billy laughed. “Just messin’. Sweatpants would be nice.”

Standing, Steve rummaged through his drawer, tossed Billy a pair of sweatpants which smacked him in the face, then headed to the bathroom to clean up and change. This time when he returned, Billy had turned down the covers and was tucked beneath them, staring expectantly at Steve. At peace, Steve gave Billy a small smile then slid in beside Billy, adjusting as he went. Arms found his waist, legs twisted together, and a few short kisses were traded back and forth.

“G’night, Hargrove.”

“Night, Stevie.”

When the alarm blared the next morning, Steve briefly untangled himself from a still sleeping Billy to hit snooze. He would get up on the next one. Or maybe the following.

Or maybe they’d be running a bit late today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Done! Sorry the updates are becoming further apart, I am trying, I promise. I was going to only have twelve chapters but I kind of want to keep going and I feel like I still have story to tell so... As always, yelling/encouragement is appreciated. Love y'all.


	12. Steve Harrington Receives a Note

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long, but I'm back with a (slightly longer than usual) update. Hope y'all like it.
> 
> Some slurs and nastiness, be careful.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Steve muttered, looking up at his alarm clock. When he thought they’d be a little late, he did not mean missing the first three periods and half of the fourth. 

“Billy!” Steve warned, feet already on the ground and hands rummaging through drawers.

“Mm,” Billy grunted, an arm thrown across his face.

“If we don’t go now you’re going to be crucified when you get home.”

“‘m gonna die anyway, Harrington,” Billy mumbled, voice gravely from sleep. “Let’s just skip.”

“What about Max?” Steve reminded, yanking a shirt from the drawer triumphantly.

“...shit.”

Steve threw a band t-shirt at Billy, (Steve didn’t even know who it was, all he knew was that Nancy had tried to get him into them and he hadn’t worn the shirt in six months,) then tore of to the bathroom, frantically shoving a toothbrush in his mouth.

After another eight minutes of Steve vainly spraying his hair in an attempt to fix it before deciding on a hat, Billy complaining about the tightness of Steve’s shirt, (Steve was  _ not  _ complaining,) and the two of them using the  _ wrong pair of damn keys  _ to try and start the Beamer, they were finally underway. Max would already be at school, she just needed someone to pick her up, but it’s not like they could very well get the Camaro from the Hargrove’s driveway, so Steve  _ and  _ Billy would be picking Max up. Steve didn’t mind, he was used to driving Max, but Billy fell quiet beside him.

“I can… drop her off by myself if you want?” Steve offered.

“No, no, it’s just… whatever, it’s not important.”

Steve shot Billy a questioning look.

“Drop it, Harrington.”

Steve focused on driving.

By the time they got to school, fourth period was over and students were crowding the halls, so Billy and Steve slipped into the throngs mostly unnoticed, Steve more so than Billy. Steve made it to his locker and spun the combination, half listening to the din around him. No one seemed to pay him mind, which was vaguely unsettling. At this point last year, Steve couldn’t walk two feet in Hawkins High School without getting stopped by someone. Now? He might as well be the octogenarian king that no one really cares about anymore; they were all focused on the newer, shinier, up and coming prince.

Well, joke’s on them, Billy was… kind of Steve’s.

He finished dialing the combination and swung open his locker, reaching for textbooks he needed for science when a piece of torn notebook paper fluttered down to Steve’s feet. Snatching it up, Steve took one look at the jagged, dark scrawl that looked as though it had been engraved in the paper, saw the words  _ faggot _ ,  _ queer _ , and  _ gay  _ and he jammed it down in the pocket of his jeans, deciding to read it later, if at all. It was probably just Tommy giving him shit again, but Steve felt his heart drop.

What if they found out about Billy? Steve was already fucked as it was, his reputation dropping from king to barely tolerable just like the average age of his friends dropped from high school to middle school. Billy though? It seemed like this was the one place he had control. Sure, he was kind of a douche about it, but Steve couldn’t take that from him, not when he lived with Neil.

Swallowing the rock that had lodged itself in his throat, Steve tucked his textbook under one arm and started for his classroom.

When the last bell rang, Steve was already half out of his seat and fully packed. Despite this, Billy was already slouched against the car and puffing on a cigarette by the time Steve got there. Steve plucked the cigarette from Billy’s fingers, took a long drag, then blew smoke in Billy’s direction, enjoying the irritation the bubbled just behind Billy’s blue, focused eyes.

“Gimmie that, you asshat.” Billy snatched back the cigarette, and crossed an arm over his chest. “Maxine is running late again.”

“...so?” Steve replied.

“I fucking  _ told her  _ that if she was late, she was skating home.”

“We can wait.” Steve leaned against the car next to Billy, hands jammed in his pockets.

The note was still there, waiting to be read. Steve was tempted to pull it out and read it now, but given his current company, he thought it best to wait. He wasn’t  _ against  _ Billy knowing about the note, Steve was just unsure of how he would react. The way Steve saw it, Billy could do one of three things. One, he would flip his shit, go after Tommy, and beat the fuck out of him. Two, he would pretend it didn’t happen at all, rip up the note, light it on fire with a half burnt cigarette, then tell Steve to “forget about it, it just some fucking loser trying to get in your head,” before giving Steve a winning smile and maybe a kiss on the cheek. Three, and this was the possibility that Steve feared the most and figured was the most likely, Billy would leave him. Sure, he claimed they would try, but did trying cover homophobic notes left in lockers and the possibility of being outed again? Steve didn’t think so.

A few more minutes passed, Billy taking occasional drawls of his cigarette but saying nothing when Max skated over, red hair blowing every which way.

“You’re late again,” Billy sang, crushing his cigarette under his toe and rounding to the passenger’s side. “It’s a good thing Harrington decided not to leave your ass here, because if it was up to me,” Billy flung open the passenger’s door and sat heavily, “you would’ve skated home.”

“I know, I know,” Max sighed, rolling her eyes as Billy slammed the door. “At least Steve gives a shit about me,” she mumbled, kicking up her skateboard and sliding in the backseat.

Then Steve reluctantly plopped in the driver’s seat and started driving, occasionally batting Billy’s hand away from the radio.

“Neil was asking about you last night,” Max stated, her eyes probing from what Steve could see in the rearview mirror.

“He’s always asking about me, Maxine.”

“Well, he was asking where you were, and I didn’t know what to tell him.”

“You didn’t need to know what to tell him,” Billy commented, looking out the window.

Max made a face but said nothing as she crossed her arms over her chest and slid further down in her seat.

The rest of the ride went by in silence so tangible you could probably see it in the car like cigarette smoke. As Steve pulled alongside the Hargrove’s house, Max jumped out, banging her skateboard into the back of Billy’s seat and causing him to curse.

When Billy made no indication of moving, Max asked: “Aren’t you coming?”

“We’ve got a school project. Now beat it,” Billy replied turning his attention to the road in front of them.

Max shut the door, thanked Steve, then trotted to the door.

“School project?” Steve questioned, shifting into drive and pressing the gas.

“Worked before, didn’t it?”

A couple hours later Billy and Steve were draped across Steve’s bed side by side, music playing from a turntable in the corner and smoke wafting through the room. Billy had a cigarette between his lips and was humming along to the music, eyes closed. Steve reached into his pocket for his lighter to light the cigarette he held in his hand when his fingers brushed against the note again.

The note.

He’d forgotten about it for a bit, favoring to focus on Billy’s lips on his and hands on his waist. Now that he’d remembered, though, he had the sudden urge to take it out and see what it said.

“What’s wrong?” Billy turned his head and was now staring at Steve who was frozen in place.

“Nothing,” Steve responded, too quickly.

Sitting up, Billy looked over at Steve, concern on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really,” Steve tried again.

“Bullshit. If that was the case you’d be lighting your cigarette instead of sitting there with your hand stuck in your pocket and looking like your mom just walked in on you having sex.”

Steve felt heat climb its way up his neck. “I… I uh…”

Impatient, Billy yanked Steve’s hand out of his pocket, the note coming with it.

“What’s that?” Billy stated, his tone indicating a command, not a question.

“It’s just some note Nancy gave—”

“Nancy, my ass.” Billy plucked it from Steve’s fingers and started unfolding it.

“No! Stop!” Steve protested, trying to get it back. Lunging across the bed, Steve managed to steal it back, clutching it to his chest. “I… I haven’t read it.”

“Obviously, but that doesn’t explain why you’re being so fucking weird about it.”

“I just… it was in my locker, what if it’s private?”

Billy cocked an eyebrow. “Private? Really, Harrington?”

“I just… I don’t want you to.”

“Don’t want me to?” Billy repeated incredulously. “I thought we were  _ trying. _ ”

“We are! Just—”

“No. Trying is actually being honest. If you were being honest,” Billy stood, fists clenching. “You’d actually be willing to talk about it.”

Steve remained still on the bed, calculating Billy. He’d never seen him like this before. Usually when Billy was angry, it was red hot, explosive, then it was gone. This anger burned blue, so hot it felt cold and it was contained. Who knew what destruction it would cause when it was unleashed.

“Just let me read it first, Billy.”

“You had your chance, Steve.” Billy stalked toward the door, shoulders taught and head down. “You just wasted it.”

“Wait,” Steve stood, hand going out to Billy, “read it now, I don’t care.”

Billy said nothing, only left Steve alone in his bedroom. The door slamming echoed through the house, making the music seem to loud and the residual smoke too thick.

Steve crumpled to the bed, note in hand. Unfurling it one corner at a time, Steve read it once, then twice, then three times, even though the contents had been burned into his memory after the first time.

_ Steve the faggot. Deserves to die. Queers die alone. _

_ You’re going to die alone. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There she be. Thank you all for the continual support, I would've given up on this a long time ago if not for you all. As always, yelling/encouragement is welcome and appreciated.


	13. Steve Harrington Cried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead. Here's an update.
> 
> Trigger warnings, some slurs, a little violence, and a lot of italics.

The next week at school was actual hell for Steve. 

The contents of the note kept repeating like a scratched vinyl, burrowing their way in Steve’s thoughts and distracting him when he should be paying attention for all the quarterly tests that were coming up.

If he was going to be distracted, it should be by Billy shoulder checking him in the hall and then biting his lip, or the small smile across the cafeteria he’d give Steve, or Billy appearing on his front porch for a “school project.” Instead, he couldn’t even look Billy in the eye.

When he dropped Max off after a day at the arcade or a campaign, he always secretly hoped Billy would appear in the doorway, eyes blazing, from what, Steve didn’t care, as long as it was for him.  _ Anything  _ would be better than this. Even Billy dragging Steve’s ass out of the car and beating the shit out of him would be preferable because then at least Steve would have a reason to hate him. Instead, Steve was trapped in memories of whiskey flavored lips and hands under hemlines and quiet, vulnerable moments sitting on the bed together. It wasn’t fair. Steve was half tempted to walk up to the Hargrove’s and punch Billy himself, just to get it over with. He never did, though. He only tiptoed around Billy like he was a sleeping bear.

That Tuesday, a week and a day after their fight, Billy actually looked Steve in the eye. His lips were pulled back in a snarl and he was trying to steal the ball from Steve during basketball practice but it was  _ something  _ and Steve’s chest actually ached like some girl in a romance movie and Steve  _ hated it _ . Billy’s chest was pressed to Steve’s side, hands reaching and grabbing for the ball. Gritting his teeth, Steve shouldered him off and passed the ball off, watching the rest of the opposing team scramble after it. Steve stood for one second, breathing and refocusing before he tore after them, sweat dripping down his face.

Steve’s team actually won that match, somehow. It was the first that he had won against Billy since the Hargroves had moved to Hawkins, but something in him felt heavy despite the victory. He should feel good about it, be excited to rub it in Billy’s face, but the heavy something stopped him.

He wanted Billy to be proud of him.

In the locker room after, everyone was loud and brash, shoving each other and stealing bottles of shampoo and sticks of deodorant. Even Steve was included for once, all the slurs and ridicule forgotten for just a second as King Steve returned to his former glory. Steve joked and teased with the others halfheartedly at best, but no one seemed to notice or care. Steve didn’t even want to be King Steve anymore. He’d been respected and admired, but he didn’t have any friends. He’d thought he’d had one friend two weeks ago, a real one, not some cling on or wannabe. Now he’d lost him too.

The noise was carried out of the locker room after another ten minutes with the team until it was only Steve in the showers. The water that sprayed from the nozzle wasn’t warm enough to be comfortable but wasn’t cold enough to warrant calling it a cold shower. It was a weird, labelless in between that Steve despised but couldn’t bring himself to change.

Something in him told him he deserved all the misery that had accumulated to that moment for being such a dick to Billy last week. He should’ve just let him read the damn note like he’d wanted to instead of being all weird and sensitive about it. Then maybe instead of being alone in the showers he’d be on his way home with Billy riding shotgun and blowing smoke out an open window.

Flipping off the shower, Steve snatched his towel up and aggressively toweled his hair, almost trying to shake the thoughts from his head like the water from his hair. He pulled his shorts on then sat heavily on the bench in the middle of the lockers, towel around his bare shoulders. The quiet around him felt stifling and suffocating. He shouldn’t be alone in the locker room, he should be trying to get his shirt from Billy or ruffling his hair as he tried to fix it or stealing one of Billy’s shoes and threatening to throw it in the toilet. It felt  _ wrong  _ to be sitting there alone and it hurt Steve so much he felt it physically. A silent tear slipped down his cheek, then another, and another. Elbows on his knees, Steve dug at his eyes with the palms of his hands trying to stop the sob that was working its way up his throat. He shouldn’t be crying about this, especially in the locker room where literally anyone could walk past and start spreading more rumours about Steve. Despite knowing this, he couldn’t stop. The tears kept flowing and splashing on the tile floor, mixing with the water that was dripping from Steve’s hair.

“Harrington?” a voice asked.

“Fuck, uh,” Steve swallowed and wiped hastily at his nose, looking toward the direction of the voice. “What’d you want?”

“I just… came for my deodorant, I realized I’d forgotten it,” Tommy explained, rounding the corner with a stick of deodorant in one hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Didn’t realize I’d be finding the faggot though.”

Steve felt the pressure in his chest worsen, the tightness feeling like someone was trying to make his heart beat to their rhythm rather than his own.  

“Did you like the note you got last week?” Tommy leaned against the lockers, arms crossed.

“Just… just leave me alone, Tommy,” Steve tried, shifting his gaze to the puddle at his feet.

“I’d rather watch you fuck everything up.”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. This couldn’t be happening.

“Now I just have  _ more  _ proof that you’re a faggot. Once it gets out that I found  _ Steve Harrington  _ in the bathroom, sobbing his eyes out like a little girl, I won’t have to be the only one leaving stupid notes in your locker. I’ll have plenty of people to do it for me!” Tommy chuckled.

“Just… why?” Steve muttered.

“Because you ditched me for that dumb slut Nancy Wheeler, and now I’m ditching you for something better.”

As Steve looked up at Tommy, he could feel how tired he looked. “Tommy.” Tommy’s face lost some of its amusement. “We both know you were never there to begin with. So just leave.”

The smile returned to Tommy’s face. “Nah. It’s fun to see King Steve where he belongs.”

Defeated, Steve rose slowly, grabbed his shirt, and slipped it on. He grabbed his gym bag, the tried to leave, but Tommy blocked his path.

“Let me go, Tommy,” Steve sighed.

“No.”

“Tommy,” Steve threatened, his grip on his bag tightening. “ _ Let. me. go. _ ”

“No way in hell,  _ faggot. _ ”

Just as Steve was about to shove Tommy away, he was ripped backwards and Billy stood with Tommy’s collar clenched in his fist.

“Give him some space, Tommy,” Billy growled.

“C’mon, Billy, he’s a queer, he had it coming to him,” Tommy argued, squirming a bit.

Billy let go and pushed him against the wall, hands against his shoulders.

Tommy winced, but kept the edge out of his voice. “What’s got you so uptight about this? It’s Steve,” he argued, as if that was an explanation.

“Yeah, and Steve fucking Harrington happens to be a friend of mine.”

Steve felt a flush start to crawl up his neck and ears. It wasn’t what he wanted, not totally, but it was better than nothing.

“Since… Since when?” Tommy stammered, fear beginning to inch its way into his expression.

“Does it matter?” Billy hissed. “If you so much as look at him again I will gut you and hang your intestines over the front door, understand?”

Tommy laughed nervously.

“Do you UNDERSTAND?” Billy shouted, his face inches from Tommy’s.

Eyebrows pinched together, Tommy nodded.

“Say it,” Billy commanded.

Silence.

“SAY IT,” Billy screamed.

“I… I understand!” Tommy whined, the slid out of Billy’s grip. Then he turned and ran, looking back every few seconds to see if Billy was following.

He wasn’t. He was still standing with his back to Steve, watching Tommy’s retreat.

“We need to talk,” he said after a while, throwing the words over his shoulder at Steve.

Steve swallowed and nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There she be. Hope y'all liked it. I'll update again, hopefully next week, it depends on something else though... *squints at AwkwardEqualist*
> 
> Anyway, I love you all and it honestly is the best part of my day to see any comments you all leave. Thank you for everything. Encouragement and/or yelling is greatly appreciated.


	14. Steve Harrington Tried Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So AwkwardEqualist delivered, (go check out their Catadora fic) so I'm back with another installment of this garbage. Hope y'all like it.
> 
> No trigger warnings that I can think of.

About ten seconds after Tommy’s footsteps receded from earshot, Billy grabbed Steve’s wrist and started pulling him in the opposite direction of where Tommy had disappeared to. Confused, Steve followed, unsure of where they were going. Classrooms Steve recognized became fewer, only having strayed down this hallway or past that closet when he was either lost or wanted to be lost, usually with a girl. In those instances, he was the one dragging someone along, not the other way around like now. It was new and different but Steve couldn’t exactly say he didn’t like it. 

When Billy stopped, it was so suddenly that Steve bumped into him, his chest colliding with Billy’s side.

“Shit, sorry man,” Steve apologized, stepping back out of Billy’s space. 

“Just… shut up, Harrington,” Billy admonished, one hand gesturing for Steve’s silence and the other hand rifling through his pocket.

After a second, Billy pulled out a key and held it up victoriously while casting a glance in Steve’s direction. Grinning, he slid the key in the lock and turned it easily before slipping inside. Dumbly, Steve stood outside the door, staring into the darkened classroom. 

“Coming?” Billy called. 

“Uh, yeah,” Steve replied, taking a breath and hesitantly crossing the threshold. “Why do you even have a key?”

“Because,” Billy’s hand found Steve’s in the semidarkness, “Mr. Banner owed me a favor.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Taking a look around the room, Steve saw lab tables and chairs, all pushed in neatly. Along the walls were cabinets and lamps which shone on about a dozen different plants. The warm light seeped through the classroom enough that the blazing overhead light wasn’t necessary, but it was still dark enough to make the air seem thick and time slow down. Billy’s hair was glinting in the dim light and his eyes seemed to lose their intensity. 

He was beautiful. 

God, Steve had missed him. 

“You… said you wanted to talk?” Steve prompted, seeming to have broken something in the air. 

“Yeah, uh, Steve,” Billy breathed. “I’m… I’m sorry about last week.” 

Steve felt his heart beat once, twice, then three times before he spoke, his thoughts moving too fast for him to piece any of them together. “You left.” Another heartbeat. “I thought we were trying.”

Billy turned and faced Steve, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows and his lips pursing. “We… were,” Billy trailed, sounding like a question.

Steve’s heart dropped. “Were?” Tears started building in Steve’s eyes for the second time that day, this time angry and hot instead of forlorn and cold. “You fucking  _ left.  _ You’re no better than anyone else,” Steve spat. “We were  _ trying _ , does that mean  _ shit _ to you?!” 

Billy’s hand came up to cup Steve’s face and it took everything in Steve not to lean into it. 

“Stevie—"

“No,” Steve mumbled, tears splashing down his face. “No. This isn’t working. We can’t work, we tried and it just wasn’t right.” 

Steve started to pull away but Billy’s other hand came to Steve’s waist, effectively stopping him for a second. 

“Stevie, baby,” Steve sniffed as Billy’s thumb wiped a tear away and diffused the fire bubbling in his stomach. “I shouldn’t… I was an ass. I was wrong. God, I was... so wrong. I’m not leaving again.”

“But we tried once, who’s to say we won’t just do the same thing again?”

“Me, dammit,” Billy swore, the hand on Steve’s waist tightening. 

“Why did you even leave to begin with?” Steve argued. “You saw a note in my pocket and instantly got defensive and made it all about you. It’s like you didn’t even care.”

“I left because I do care. I… I care too much.”

Steve remained silent. 

“I was being a self-righteous bastard, okay? I thought… I guess I… I just wanted to help. I thought the only way to do that was to know every little thing that was going on.” Billy rubbed his thumb over the bottom of Steve’s rib cage. “I don’t have to know to care. I… I know that now.”

Steve was unsure of how to respond. This conversation and apology was what he had been waiting for. Why was it so hard to just… accept it and move on?

“You… you left,” Steve repeated.

“I’m not leaving again.”

A moment passed.

“You… you want to try again?” Steve whispered.

Billy leaned his forehead on Steve’s, eyes closed. “Fuck yeah,” he murmured, a small smile on his face.

Steve drew in a rattling breath and released it, his shoulders and spine relaxing. The stress and tension of the last week melted out of him and the ache in his chest subsided a little. Billy started to pull away, but Steve reached up, took his face in his hands, and brought him closer again. The desperation Steve had felt so acutely earlier that day was starting to manifest again, showing in the way Steve’s pulse had quickened and how he could feel every nerve on fire where Billy touched him. Steve watched Billy’s pupils dilate and lips part slightly. They were in each other’s space now, their breath mixing and the space growing smaller, centimeter by centimeter.

“Kiss me,” Steve ordered, voice barely above a whisper.

Billy hesitated for only a moment before crashing his lips against Steve’s and pressing against him, forcing Steve against one of the lab tables. The lip of the table dug sharply into Steve’s back and he bit Billy’s lip in surprise, eliciting a moan from Billy. Grinning against Billy’s mouth, Steve leaned far enough away to adjust himself to be sitting on the table before grabbing Billy’s collar and bringing their lips together again. Billy’s hands wrapped around the underside of Steve’s thighs, effectively bringing their hips together and giving Steve incentive to wrap his legs around Billy.

All the hurt that Steve had been fighting was gone and forgotten; his only focus was Billy and the way he still tasted salty from practice and how good it felt to be like this again. Sweet sensations were coursing through Steve and his brain felt like it was a popsicle left on a picnic table in July.

When they finally broke apart, Steve couldn’t catch his breath. He could only sit and stare blankly at Billy, his blond curls framing his face with gold and making him look angelic. Billy pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek and smiled softly at him. 

“I’m glad we’re trying again.”

“Me too,” Steve sighed, dropping his head to Billy’s shoulder. “We should go, before we get locked in.”

“Yeah, just one more thing,” Billy stated, hand coming up and fiddling with Steve’s hair. 

Steve hummed in response. 

“If Tommy ever gives you shit again,” Steve looked up at Billy expectantly. “I will fucking murder him.”

“I know.”

“Okay, good.” 

Billy then pulled Steve off the table by his waist and laced their fingers together. 

“Are we going to yours or mine?” Billy asked, walking toward the door. 

“Mine. My parents aren’t home.”

Nodding, Billy swung open the door, cast a glance in each direction, then waltzed out of the room, Steve in tow.

When they reached the front doors, Billy pushed on one of them to leave but it wouldn’t budge. He looked at Steve in confusion then tried again, once again to no avail. Steve let go of Billy’s hand and tried himself but the doors were locked tight. 

“Shit,” Steve muttered. 

“Fucking shit,” Billy replied, pushing on the door again. “I was supposed to pick Max up from AV Club today and now Neil’s going to murder me.”

“Can’t Mrs. Henderson take her home?” 

“No, because Max doesn’t know to go with her.”

“I’m sure that we can find some phone around here,” Steve offered.

“That’s not in a locked room? Doubt it.

Steve swore under his breath. 

“It’s fine,” Billy huffed. “I’ll deal with it later.”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“Can it, Harrington. I’m fucking dead but I’ll worry about it tomorrow. In the meantime, we still have shit to turn in tomorrow and I’m pretty sure the library stays unlocked. Let’s go.”

Billy stormed off down the hall without even checking to see if Steve was following behind even though he was. Billy flung the door open to the library and plunked down at the first table he saw, pulling out books and notebooks. Steve hesitantly sat across from him, also taking out a notebook and a pencil. They studied in silence for a few minutes, Steve afraid to speak for fear of Billy ripping his head off with his teeth. 

“Steve?” Billy questioned after another fifteen minutes of complete stillness. “Yeah, Billy?”

“Do you have the notes from English two weeks ago?” he asked sheepishly.

“No, I don’t Billy. If I recall,  _ someone _ was throwing orange seeds at me the whole time so I couldn’t finish any complete thoughts before getting a damn seed in my ear or stuck to my cheek. Now whose fault could that be?” Steve finished, giving Billy a pointed look.

Billy cracked a smile, the worry in his eyes receding. “I don’t know, Harrington, but I guess we’re both going to fail that quiz on Friday.”

“Not if you don’t beg Nancy for her notes.”

“Me? Beg Nancy Wheeler for notes?” Billy snorted. “Maybe you’re not as smart as I thought.”

“I’d be a hell of a lot smarter if you didn’t distract me so much in class.”

“It’s not my fault you can’t keep your pants on in my presence.”

Steve scoffed. “In your dreams, Hargrove.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! More garbage for all! *muffled applause* If you liked it please leave a comment or yell at me to update, I love you guy. Stay safe.


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